


Kaleidoscope

by RussianWitch



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anthropomorphic, Biting, Blasphemy, Bloodplay, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dirty Talk, Drabble Collection, Drama, Evil Overlord List, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Gen, Gun Kink, I love the fact that most of these tags are already present, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pseudo-Incest, Situational Humiliation, Size Kink, Slapping, Speedos, Strapping, Tail Sex, Tit Torture, Whipping, enough of it to choke a horse in fact, if it's a mythical being it doesn't count as furry!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 45,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles based on the rules of the Evil Overlord List.<br/>Will eventually range from gen to explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd

_ The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness. _

Arthur occasionally reminds Eames of the tale of Koshej the Immortal who kept his soul in an egg that was hidden in an unlikely combination of animals so he could keep living forever.

Arthur does something similar, only not with his soul but with his past instead. Eames has known him for years now and still he only has bits and pieces scrounged through the years piecemeal conversation by conversation, swiped notebook by accidentally on purpose read mail. The whole of Arthur's history might as well be kept on the Mountain of Despair, beyond the River of Fire or some such rot, possibly guarded by dragons. And while Eames is a romantic and an adventurer, he isn't quite ready to face dragons, even the metaphorical kind especially since the chance exists that after Arthur will never talk to him again. So he's more than surprised when after they've been together for a while, Arthur offers. He kind of expects it to be a big deal that will take planning and the both of them disappearing for a while.

He doesn't expect Arthur to grab his keys and tell him that they are going into town. They have been living in an obscenely cramped and expensive apartment on Manhattan island for the last couple of months after Arthur had gone into the hipster version of withdraw in Mombasa so they are in walking distance of pretty much everything. As he trails Arthur, Eames wonders if his question hasn't simply been shelved for the moment and Arthur has decided to go out for ice cream or something. 

 

Only they go down into the subway and get on the Q train into Brooklyn.

If there is a place Eames can't imagine Arthur, it's probably Brooklyn. 

Inside the metro car Arthur zones and Eames has to amuse himself by watching the different people around them. He likes watching people, there is always something interesting to see that Eames can eventually use on a job or for his own personal entertainment. He almost doesn't notice how far they have gone until Arthur nudges him and they walk out into Brighton Beach. It's the middle of summer muggy and smoky, in the shadow of the rails the heat is bearable enough for Eames to start looking around in wonder: if he didn't know better he would swear that they have passed a portal somewhere that's taken them to the other side of the world. Russian sounds all around them and shouts at them from the signs, grandmas with gold teeth and furs even in the summer heat amble about poking critically at the produce and Arthur confidently makes his way to a corner bank. Inside the over-cooled building Arthur drags Eames along to where the safe deposit boxes are. He shows the lady a key and an I.D. card and she waves the both of them through and locks the door behind them. Eames itches to go and try his hand at opening some of those boxes despite there being little chance of them holding anything of value but Arthur snorts and shakes his head. 

 

"No you don't." And it's all Eames can do to look innocent.

"Wouldn't dream of it pet." It wouldn't do much good anyway Eames expects and Arthur can be such a cruel bastard when angered. Besides he's much to curious why Arthur has dragged him here. 

 

The deposit box Arthur pulls out isn't overly large, but it's filled to the brink with paper of all kind. Arthur leans his hip against the table and pulls out a book that's obviously a photo album to nudge it in Eames' direction.

"One word! And you'll be sleeping in Central Park." After Eames sees the first pictures, he's very grateful for the warning. Arthur, as a kid is mostly ears, dimples and a mop of curly hair that if not for the warning would have Eames rolling on the floor laughing. He can see that Arthur knows what he's thinking, but Eames figures that as long as he doesn't say it out loud he won't raise Arthur's ire. Arthur glares at him long enough that Eames starts considering appeasement strategies, only for Arthur to sigh and fish another picture out of the box. With them in hand he jumps up to seat on the table and pulls Eames to stand between his legs. 

"This is all that's over from the old Arthur. I made sure of that, this picture that's the last picture taken of him." It's a family portrait: a middle aged couple that looks happy and proud with a young man in uniform behind them and a grinning teenage girl sitting on the floor in front of them. "After I was offered the participation in project Somnacin, I demanded that they make me disappear. I knew that...well I didn't want to take any chances so officially I have been MIA for years. My parents died a few years ago, but my sister is still alive and I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Understandable pet. Have a few people here and there I prefer safe. But, well, frankly I expected a mite more from you being Arthur The Pointman and all." He can't resist kissing away the smirk that appears on Arthur's face

"And that's exactly why I keep everything here. No one would think to look for my history here." He pushes Eames away and starts digging into the box again looking over a couple of letters and notebooks and he refuses to let Eames see, but overall Eames gets a pretty good idea of Arthur past and present and how they fit into each other. He's more than aware that he's being granted something precious; information that Arthur has kept secret for so many years, and he's trusted Eames with keeping it safe as well now. 

When they are done and everything is in the box again, they take a walk on the promenade before getting back on the metro.

Once they are back on the train, Eames crowds Arthur into a corner to murmur in his ear.

"I'm kind of disappointed that there weren't any dragons darlin' I'm partial to them you see." 

"Dragons? Really?" He knows that Arthur is laughing at him, but that doesn't matter as long as he's also feeling Eames up under the cover of Eames' untucked shirt.

"Jup, big bad fire spitting dragons..." As he talks Eames nuzzles at Arthur's ear then starts nipping at Arthur's throat.

"Imagining yourself as a dragon slayer?" Eames chuckles and crowds closer.

"Imagining myself as a dragon something darlin'" Eames grinds their hips together to let Arthur know exactly what that 'something' might be.

"Incorrigible." Arthur chuckles nuzzling Eames as well. Eames has to remind himself that they are still in public and he can't start stripping Arthur right away.

"Good thing I'm here to keep an eye on you." Eames shivers at Arthur's possessive tone. 

"Hopefully more than an eye hmmm?" He grins when the question gets his groped. 

"We'll see..." Eames smiles back already imagining playing 'virgin' sacrifice to Arthur's dragon.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The first thing Eames does when they materialize in the dream is look down, because he feels a breeze.

Not surprising with the pocket hanky sized gold colored speedo he's suddenly wearing.

The thick gold chain around his neck does nothing in the coverage department either. 

Arthur on the other hand, is in one of his fitted suites as usual, with slicked back hair and a mop of dirty fur in his arms that resolves itself into a cat badly in need of a haircut or possibly a shave. 

"Huh"

The cat disappears after Arthur frowns at it for a moment together with a myriad of white cat hair that somehow managed to transfer to his jacket already.

A comfortable chair appears behind him and as soon as he sits down two sphinx cats appear balancing on the chair arms and turn to miauw at Eames obnoxiously before setting down.

 

"Arthur love, please explain to me why I am half naked?" He also sort of wants an explanation for the cats, but they can wait until Eames gets the clothing sorted first. 

 

"More than half, 90% I would say and it's because you're the bimbo." It's really disgusting how angelic Arthur can look saying something like that. "If you're wondering about the cats, it's a stereotype thing: I'm the villain so there has to be at least one cat, only I hate Persians so..." Arthur waves at the hairless cats who might now look like they are considering napping, but are still too awake for comfort as far as Eames is concerned. 

 

"Getting back to 'I am the bimbo', and please thread carefully since I can and will kill you here love of my life." He shifts to lean against a shelve and feels Arthur's gaze zeroing in on his crotch, it makes Eames want to hide behind something or possibly look for lube. With Arthur he still regularly isn't sure if he's getting mauled in a nice way or not until it's actually happening half the time. 

 

"Every villain has a bimbo, think Bond girls...and since our client expressed an interest in a spy scenario..." Eames gets the broad strokes of the picture, just...he's in a speedo.

 

"And you couldn't be the bimbo because...?" On the whole Arthur is the one who has the looks needed to play the part of a boytoy.

 

"I'm not his type. Be glad the speedo is the worst of it, there could have been piercings." And while Eames objectively knows there aren't any, he still can't resist looking just to check to Arthur's great amusement.

 

"Stop whining anyway, all you have to do this time is sit around and look pretty until you get seduced into giving some 'critical' information. I have to do all the actual work! And the actual getting fed to the sharks or something equally juvenile." The speedo is digging into his ass crack is a very disconcerting way and Eames is getting less happy with the situation by the second.

 

"Darlin' be reasonable, let me at least put on a shirt!" He pleads but Arthur shakes his head while getting out of the chair. Eames backs against the wall feeling ridiculous getting stalked by Designer Librarian and two hairless cats, yet somehow the three of them are terrifying. Eames ends up backed up against the bookcases with Arthur's hands dancing across his skin. Eames whimpers when Arthur's fingers twist one his nipples harshly and grope his ass at the same time.

 

"Be a good boy and play along without bitching about it and I will make it worth your time Mr. Eames." Arthur's tongue finds Eames' throat and leaves a wet trail down to his Adam's apple. Their bodies press together and Eames can feel Arthur's cock digging into his thigh like a promise of things to come.

 

"Promise darlin'?" Arthur shoves a leg between Eames' thigh and pushes up until Eames sees starts.

 

"You have to ask?" With a sharp nip to Eames' throat Arthur steps away again leaving Eames to catch his breath. "Now go and shake your ass at our employer so we can get this over with." He finishes with a slap to Eames' ass that Eames really should take offence at. He groans, looks longingly at Arthur's suit than pulls himself together, takes a deep breath then prances out of the room cursing as he goes and already planning on collecting his reward.      


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so it's not off the evil overlord list, but it's about an evil villain so I decree that it counts :P


	3. Chapter 3

_I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such._

As far as Arthur is concerned Eames can't be trusted with any of the equipment.

Never mind that Eames has been in the business longer and it's not that he would deliberately wreck something, it's just that Eames is a disgusting fidget and Arthur had been making some personal modifications to the PASIV over the years that can't handle people poking and prodding at the machine. Since the least the traps can do is take someone's hands clear off, Arthur would prefer that Eames keep the hell away from the thing all together.

 

So he has laid down the law, and Eames like a cat sensing that someone has allergies of course has made it his life's goal to cuddle up to the briefcase as much as possible. No matter how many warnings Arthur gives, how many threats he makes, or how many bribes he dangles in front of Eames, none of them seem to work as intended. If he even so much as turns away for a minute while they aren't working with the PASIV, there Eames is fingers already caressing the lock. It's almost like Eames wants to lose his fingers!

 

So aside from facilitating all the things necessary for a successful dream job, Arthur has ended up playing babysitter to a overly fidgety Forger who only seems to be able to stay away from the PASIV when getting distracted from it by Arthur. He's actually considered cuffing Eames to something on the other side of the room, but unfortunately Eames would just fidget with the cuffs and in the end slip them in some way Arthur still hasn't managed to ferret out.

 

He ends up taking the suitcase along when going out for a smoke only for Eames to follow him. Arthur doesn't exactly throw his body between the PASIV and Eames, but it's all down to technicalities as he's boxed in against the wall with only his cigarette as his last defense stuck between them.

"Give us a pull luv." Eames purrs and it actually takes Arthur a while to connect the words to the cigarette between them. He turns his hand and watches Eames bend his neck and wrap his lips around the filter with the same shy, playful look as he gets just before sucking cock. Eames exhales the smoke as he leans in further to nuzzle at Arthur's ear and mess up the collar of his shirt.

"You're awfully possessive of that little toy of yours pet."

"I've lost count of the times I've told you that it's for your own good. I don't see why you are so interested anyway, it's not like you aren't intimately familiar with it's workings!" Arthur bites out pushing lightly at Eames' chest to see if the bigger man will budge.

"Which only proves that I can play nice with it." Instead of allowing himself to be pushed away, Eames pushes closer until Arthur has to throw the arm holding the cigarette across Eames' shoulder to keep from burning either of them. Arthur sighs and knocks his head a couple of times against the bricks behind him.

"Tell me Mr. Eames, what would you do when faced with a button that has the label 'Do Not Push'?" It's not like he doesn't know the answer already, and the smirk on Eames' face when he looks up from nipping at Arthur's jaw.

"That's exactly why I don't let you near the PASIV."

Eames pulls away suddenly to frown down at the suitcase. "I thought you were joking pet!"

Arthur can't believe the shock he sees on Eames' face. He watches Eames go pale as he pushes away from Arthur to lean against the wall on the opposing side of the ally.

"You actually booby-trapped the bloody fucking PASIV didn't you? You little maniac!" Arthur doesn't really see the problem, he shrugs and pulls out another cigarette.

"I like tinkering, and I prefer not to have other people touching my things...I did warn you, I've actually lost count of how many times I've warned you."

"Building explosives charges into a machine that can leave all of us brain-dead as is, is not tinkering pet!" Having sucked down the remainder of Arthur's cigarette Eames pulls out his own waving them around until he can find his lighter and light up again. Arthur feels a little guilty that he enjoys the rare sight of Eames in a panics as much as he does.

"This is the last one of the original military grade PASIV's..."

"When we are done for the day you are going to explain every damn thing you've done to the bloody PASIV and how to disarm it. If you don't..." Eames rakes a hand through his hair and Arthur wonders if offering sex now will be met with resistance. He usually doesn't like using sex to get things done, but Eames just looks too tempting to resist.

"It's going to take a while to explain."

After inhaling his second cigarette in one go, Eames finally comes back grabbing Arthur by the jaw to bring their faces close together.

"For once darlin' I don't care. You'll be talking as long as you need to explain to me every bit of tinkering you've done."

"And then?" Arthur has to wonder, explaining all the traps won't change their existence after all.

"And then, if I'm satisfied, and that's a big 'if' Arthur I can tell you now, we'll see." Arthur can't resist lunging and kissing Eames' pouting lips.

"I'm not sleeping on the couch." He figures that currently it's better to have all his cards on the table.

"Have that booby-trapped as well do you?" Eames bitches at him, but doesn't pull away when Arthur steals another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

  
_When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."_   
  


 

He hears the damning words just as he's about to clear the last corner.

"Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?"

Arthur really hates that Eames manages to sound so damn sincere asking, especially considering that Eames knows the situation exactly.

Fortunately, Eames' captors are morons and actually start explaining.

From his position Arthur can see that Eames has already managed to cut through half of his bonds and that the captors have missed at least two knives if they have even bothered to pet Eames down.

If Arthur had gotten asked that question...hell if Eames had been asked that question! The person asking would be dead before they finished just to be on the safe side.

All in all, disposing of the sub-par goons can barely be called work. Arthur doesn't miss, and he never takes chances.

Eames still hasn't worked through the last of the plastic cuffs when Arthur is done and comes to stand in front of him gun with silencer still in hand. 

 

"You are officially in the doghouse Mr. Eames." He says poking the still uncomfortably warm gun barrel at Eames' cheek.

 

"Auw, come on darlin' if I hadn't gotten caught we would have had to spend at least two more weeks flushing them out. Saves time this way doesn't it?" Eames whines nuzzling at the dull metal in a disconcerting way.

 

"This isn't the time." Arthur snaps just to have it on record, because as expected, he gets ignored. Occasionally he'd love to see what goes on in the man's head, really goes on in the man's head and not when he's dreaming either because that might explain...Arthur has to swallow a moan when nuzzling turns into sucking on the barrel like it's a cock. Eames has far fewer problems with showing what he's feeling; he moans like he's getting paid for it as he slides his lips up and down the barrel looking Arthur straight in the eyes all the while. 

 

Arthur's cock twitches in his pants, because he knows what that mouth feels like; he wants to feel the wet heat again, the talented tongue teasing across the underside and licking at the head... Looking around just to be sure that they are alone except for the corpses, Arthur finally curses and starts to unbuckle his belt. Thankfully Eames has his mouth full and can't comment, and Arthur is going to make damn sure that his mouth will stay full.

 

"Keep your arms where they are." He jerks the barrel of the gun out of Eames' mouth, and guides his own cock in to replace the metal. Eames groans around him and pulls back enough that he can tease at the head of Arthur's cock with his tongue. Arthur doesn't want to be teased, he dings his free hand into Eames' messy hair and pulls hard while thrusting in. He feels Eames choke a little around him before he finally pulls back a little. 

 

"Keep still!" He enforces the warning by putting the gun to Eames' temple and relishes the edge of fear that appears in the back of Eames' eyes.

Arthur is pretty sure that objectively Eames knows that Arthur won't shoot him without a very good reason, but it's hard to be objective with a cock in your mouth and a gun to your head. Eames keeps still, almost relaxes into Arthur's hand and into the gun and moans. When Arthur glances down for a moment, he can see that Eames' pants are tented and there is already a hint of a future wet spot forming. 

 

He doesn't bother with giving warning, just starts fucking Eames' throat. The fire of the violence and the barely acknowledged fear that he wouldn't be on time transmuting into the need to own Eames in every way he can manage for the moment. He thrusts in deep and watches the fight for air that Eames can't quite hide from his face and his frame.

Every time Arthur cuts off Eames' air it feels like time stops around them, like they can stay like that for ever. Of course the world doesn't work that way, between the adrenaline still shooting fireworks through his system and Eames being so accommodating Arthur feels an orgasm building like an itch low on his spine much too soon. He slips his finger off the trigger just in case and grabs Eames' hair just a little bit tighter. His hips snap forward, almost hard enough to leave bruises, instead of protest Eames moans in encouragement around him and raises his tongue so that it rubs firmly against Arthur's cock on every stroke. He glances down and Eames' pants are a complete mess, they will probably have a problem leaving the building, but Eames is a mess because he's come just from getting his mouth used, just because Arthur is using it. 

Arthur likes that though enough to allow it to push him over the edge.

He pulls back a little, fills Eames' mouth is come watching as Eames struggles a little to swallow around him before pulling out completely with a sigh.

Eames licks his lips like a satisfied cat, and Arthur can't resist bending down to taste himself. Eames bites at him, grabs him behind the knees and all of a sudden Arthur is in Eames' lap getting his mouth fucked by Eames' tongue.

 

Only the gun getting in the way reminds Arthur that a hallway littered with corpses isn't the best location to actually fuck.

With regret he pulls away, batting at Eames when he tries to get Arthur back in his lap.

 

"We need to go..."

 

"Of course we do darlin' but do we have to go right away?" Eames' hand wraps around Arthur's still bare cock and despite having just come his flesh gives an interesting twitch under the calloused fingers.

 

"Yes we do. You're not fucking me surrounded by corpses." Arthur says, almost with conviction and Eames damn well knows it.

 

"You didn't mind getting blown..." Eames looks much to pleased with himself for someone who has spend the better part of the day captured.

 

"That's different," it really isn't, but Arthur won't admit to losing control just because Eames molested his gun. "Besides I want to be in bed when you fuck me raw." He smirks when Eames' eyes light up, then can't help yelping when he gets dumped out of Eames' lap.

Eames jumps up, untucks his shirt to cover the wet spot on the crotch of his pants and starts cutting the loops of plastic off his wrists while prodding the corpses until he finds the one who has the rest of his weapons. Only when he's more or less presentable he looks back at Arthur who's still a bit dazed and sitting on the floor with his cock out.

 

"Well? Come on darlin' the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I'll be balls deep in that tight arse of yours!" Eames snipes when Arthur doesn't move fast enough for his liking while getting himself decent again. 

 

Arthur raises his gun in warning, but all of that accomplishes is that Eames licks his lips again.

For once Arthur knows when he's beat. 


	5. Chapter 5

Just a couple of more corridors and Arthur is done. 

Just a bit more blood on his hands and everything will be over. He'll be able to go find Eames, pack up and the two of them can leave. They will be able to disappear, find some quite village somewhere where no one will know who they are, where no one will be able to guess and just live.

If only he manages to survive until then.

He's gotten sloppy now that he's so close to the end.

He's hesitated a time or two and now...the wound in his side drips a steady drip, makes him slow down some and makes everything hurt as he moves. 

 

But he's close!

Only one corridor to go, he shoots two more guards and then there is only a door between him and what he's worked to accomplish for so many years. 

Only a door between him and his destiny.

 

The office is large but utilitarian; almost bare of everything but a couple of shelves, a grand table and a few chairs scattered here and there. There are grand windows that let the light in, that's where his target stands with his back to the door.

 

As in much of the government released media the man is dressed in the uniform of the State.

He's tall and broad shouldered, stands straight with his hands behind his back and all Arthur has to do is lift his gun and... He knows those shoulders, knows those hands and even knows the back of that head. 

It takes all of Arthur's strength of will not to drop the gun. He doesn't realize that he's made a sound, but something causes the man to turn around and Arthur doesn't want to see the face. 

 

"Hello pet, I wish this could end differently." Eames has a bitter smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes and Arthur, he might be an idiot about a lot of things but this he understands in a flash.

 

"You...it was always you!" Eames had been on the inside almost from the start, he's already been there in the inner circle even before Arthur had been pulled in.

They had never stood a chance.

 

"It was always me. Keep your friends close..."

 

"And sleep with your enemies?" Because Eames had been the one to pursue him, had been the relentless seducer until Arthur had finally given in. He'd known what he was going to do for a very long time already, had known that he wouldn't necessarily live through it starting any kind of long term relationships had seemed pointless until Eames.

 

He should have been stronger. 

 

Suddenly a fresh wave of pain rakes his body, Arthur feels dizzy and his knees give out on him. He drops to the floor and to his amazement Eames takes several steps forward before he gets himself under control. With nothing left to lose, Arthur uses the last of his strength to raise his gun. It shakes and sways in his hand, far too heavy for Arthur to keep it up for long, but shooting a man doesn't take long.

 

"I wish things could have been different Arthur, I real do but we are what we are pet."

 

"Why? Why the deception? You've been part of a resistance against yourself for years! You killed your own people, planned against yourself!" Arthur can't bring himself to ask the question that burns at the back of his throat, he isn't even sure that he wants to know the answer.

 

"Does it matter? You're bleeding to death pet, is this really the time for a discussion about politics?"

 

"Just saving you the effort of executing me." At this point dying would actually be a relief, dying will keep Arthur from having to live with all of his failures.

 

"Arthur!" Suddenly Arthur finds that he's lying on the floor instead of sitting and Eames is right there next to him on his knees. There is something pressed against his side that turns out to be Eames' uniform jacket. "Arthur, you're not fucking dying on me!"

 

"I want to..." Arthur slurs because he really wants all of this to stop. If he's dead he won't have to feel all the regrets, all the pain that's clouding him mind. 

 

"I already called the medics. Just hold on for a few minutes longer!" Eames sounds to be overly panicked for someone who has just won.

 

"Don't, don't want to, not point...no future..."

 

"I wasn't lying Arthur! You have a future, we have a future! But you have to fucking live!"

 

Arthur doesn't even have the strength to talk any longer all he can do is shake his head. Because Eames is a liar, the best liar Arthur has even known and Arthur is done. With the remainder of his strength Arthur reaches out, and yanks Eames down to slot their mouth together.

 

Eames might be a bastard and liar but Arthur still loves him.

He blacks out with the taste of Eames the fucking dictator on his lips. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direct sequel to previous drabble.  
> Was actually planning on letting people stew for a few days or so...then this came out.

Arthur wakes in an airy room in a very comfortable bed.  
He shouldn't have woken up at all, and when he tries to move something rattles that resolves itself into a metal cuff attacking his hand to the side of the bed he's in.  
When he finally manages to raise his head to look around; Eames is sitting on a chair at the end of the bed, booted feet propped up on the foot-board seemingly absorbed in something on a tablet.  
He has to conclude that he isn't dead, all in all not the most desirable end, and wonder why he's wherever he is and not in a dungeon. Unfortunately his thoughts are still muddled and sleep tempts him with oblivion.  
Arthur gives into the temptation.

Two months later Arthur is being poked and prodded by an ancient looking doctor who keeps tisking Arthur because he hasn't been eating enough and overdoing it with the physical exercise.  
In the end, Arthur still gets a clean bill of health reported to Eames who has been stalking circles on the far side of the room since the moment he's sent the doctor in.  
Arthur is a tiny bit amused that despite everything that can potentially be turned into a weapon having been removed, Eames is still worried that Arthur will do something to the doctor.  
He guesses that the fun in being noble has finally worn off for Eames and he wants medical confirmation that he's allowed to do whatever he wants.

Not that Arthur has any idea what the hell Eames wants. Arthur has woken several times to the sight of Eames half sprawled over the foot of the bed fingers barely touching Arthur's ankle. Yet when Arthur is conscious, Eames stays away as far as he can while staying in the same set of rooms giving Arthur the feeling that he's being watched every moment of the day. He wonders how long it will take for Eames to demand sex, or information, not that Arthur would know anything new, Eames had always been higher up in the organization. Arthur after all is just a weapon that gets pointed at the threat, he isn't one of the strategists. 

Eames comes back without the doctor, but seems to get stuck in the door watching Arthur with tragic eyes. Eames must be the best actor Arthur has ever encountered; Arthur can't trust anything that comes out of Eames' mouth or from his face for that matter. When Arthur stares back Eames abruptly turns away locking himself in his office.  
Arthur celebrates his clean bill of health by spending the day outside; followed around by two guards with their guns aimed at his back, but at least there he can breathe.  
When Eames graces Arthur with his presence again after it starts getting dark, he's only wearing his uniform trousers and boots the jacket and shirt either lost or left somewhere.

"Arthur..." He starts hesitantly, and has to stop to lick his lips. Arthur can't stand to look at him all liquid eyed and tense but forces himself not to look away. Eames is the one to turn his back in the end. Arthur used to love watching the muscles of that back move, loved to trace them with fingers and tongue..."The guards, they've been ordered not to come in, no matter what happens, what they hear they...they'll stay out..." Arthur has to wonder why Eames seems so hesitant announcing the agenda for the evening. He's been expecting having to pay for the privilege of not rotting in a dungeon somewhere for quite some time now. The news that he'll end up screaming...is only mildly surprising. "...but I have to insist that you leave me in a condition to walk out on my own two feet luv, or they might misunderstand and I'd rather you don't get shot because they think you killed me." 

Arthur doesn't understand the game. All he can do is mutely watch as Eames goes over to one of the locked closets and opens the doors. Inside there is a wide variety of belts all of which probably belong to various uniforms and suits, but Arthur can't spare them any attention not with Eames looking lost as he moves to the foot of the bed then starts to fumble at the buckle of heavy rawhide belt that's part of his usual uniform. When Eames has managed to work it out of the belt-loops of his trousers he starts to roll it seemingly by habit then stops and simply folds it in half. Arthur could swear he sees a tremble in Eames' fingers as they skim across the buckle.  
Arthur watches him swallow, and then gracefully sink to his knees, arms stretched up in Arthur's direction offering the heavy leather and whatever thought has been running through Arthur's mind grinds to a halt violently. 

Eames never makes himself vulnerable, hates pain with a passion and makes a terrible patient, Arthur has seen it often enough over the years and now Eames is offering himself up with the expectation that Arthur will do him violence, enough of it that he will need medical assistance.  
Arthur is actually startled to find himself standing over Eames with the belt in his hands. Eames who swallow, nods to himself and shuffles around enough that he can wrap his hands around the foot-board and brace.

The belt is heavy enough that any real force behind the blow will leave deep bruises, and will possibly break skin. The buckle is a big copper square that when snapped open will be able to rent and tear. Arthur lets the buckle dangle across Eames' bare back just to watch him shiver, twitch and Eames' knuckles grow white on the foot-board but he still doesn't protest.  
Arthur would love to be able to use the buckle, to strip the flesh off Eames' bones, only he can't because it's still Eames and while his brain knows that he's been played his heart still refuses to believe it. 

The buckle barely fits in his palm but Arthur can make due, he's always managed to make due, then wraps the belt around his hand another turn. The room is so still around them that Arthur can hear Eames breathing; slow, deep breaths that Arthur knows are hiding panic. 

"Why?" He has to ask while draping the leather across Eames' shoulders.

"You're well now and you deserve your pound of flesh pet. I figure if you do..." Eames doesn't look up when he answers, still twitching as if the leather weighs as much as a steel bar, but Arthur can read between the lines. 

"That it would all magically be better? You betrayed me, you killed my friends and colleagues, and you’re a fucking dictator Eames! How can you think this would make up for anything?" He lashes out as remembering the reason they find themselves where they are in the first place. The belt makes a deep red cut across Eames' back and makes Eames growl but not move.

"It would be a start! I am what I was raised to be, much like you darlin'. Do you even remember the first person you killed? How old were you? Seven? Eight? A little killing machine programmed to do one thing his whole life!" Eames snaps through gritted teeth, but doesn't move from the position he has taken.  
Arthur is more than aware of how much blood is on his hands, but he has always reminded himself that all of it has been spilled in the line of duty. To compare that with Eames' grand game...

"Why did you go after me? Just tell me that Eames! You knew how this was going to end! Why the fuck did you have to..." He can't make himself give voice to the feeling, "why me? You could pick anyone!" Asking is as close as Arthur can come to begging for an explanation.

"I wanted you...I've never wanted anyone like that before. I watched you, a hell of a long time before you even knew I existed, I watched you because I wanted to know who they'd picked, to stay ahead of them and then I saw you. I fucking fell in love with you!" They haven't said it to each other; not really, Arthur had always figured they were both waiting for after when they wouldn't have any responsibilities to anyone else any longer. To the confession now, when he doesn't want it any more...the tortured tone it's delivered in.

"So this? Why this? Why not just let me escape now that I'm better? Make amends that way?" Because if Eames doesn't seem to plan on killing him, and release would make much more sense since keeping Arthur is pointless.

"Because I'm greedy and selfish and I don't want to let you go," Eames whispers and his muscles tighten again as if he expects another blow, "and because you don't know what the fuck freedom is anyway pet so if you're honest with yourself you don't give a fuck about it! Figured you'd appreciate getting to punish me right and proper like and maybe after...no bigger fool than a fool in love I suppose."

"I can still kill you. Asking me not to do it isn't exactly a proper precaution."

"You wouldn't make it out of the house alive, Arthur much less off the grounds..." Eames sounds desperate and Arthur can't understand why? Not that anything Eames has said in the last few minutes makes much sense.

"Why the fucks do you care! You'd be dead anyway!" Like Arthur should have been after failing, "if you're that concerned about me living, call your guards tell them not to shoot me no matter what." The leather of the belt digs into Arthur's palm, the buckle has probably left a mark that will stay for a while, he feels numb all over from standing in one position too long, from all the things between them. Eames slumps, his forehead against the foot-board his whole posture radiating defeat like Arthur has never seen before.

"Right you are love, but I have to ask...There are things that need doing,’s better for everyone really if, when...so things don't fall into chaos. Just, just give me a month...to get things in order...then you can have whatever you want; gun, knife, hell you can break my neck with your bare hands if you want...just give me the time to put things in order." He doesn't even sound like Eames, when Eames finishes speaking. The man who looks up at Arthur is a stranger with eyes that are dead already. Arthur, mouth dry, can only nod dumbly in shock as the stranger gets up and walks out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last bit following the previous two drabbles.

In all honesty, Arthur had no idea he had been occupying Eames' personal apartment. He doesn't exactly have a lot of experience with palaces after all, except for studying the blueprints.  
After their...discussion, he gets moved to guest quarters on the other side of the building. Arthur tries not to wonder where Eames has been sleeping all the time Arthur has been occupying his bed. He tries not to be hurt about being relocated as far away from Eames as he can get while remaining in the same house.

He doesn't see Eames either, but after a couple of days couriers start arriving with documents and dossiers about the current government and the people who would have to assume control 'temporarily' until first steps could be made to creating a democracy. All going into play in the event of Eames' demise. The dossiers that come to him contain enough dirt for all the players to do everything Arthur wants...just as soon as Eames is gone. 

Half way through the month another dossier arrives, and that one is different because it contains documents that relate only to Arthur; there are account numbers and the address of a property with a picture attacked. He can barely keep from collapsing when he sees a picture of it; a decent sized cottage that stands on a hill at a walking distance from the sea and half hour drive from the next village. It has roses in the front garden and two workshops in the back yard the size of barns. Without seeing the pictures, Arthur knows that inside the ceilings will have crossbeams showing and the main room will have a fireplace. There is going to be a library, a proper one right next to the main bedroom that has a large shower with a seat because...because one a very long time ago Eames had confided in him that he liked to have sex in the shower so Arthur had adapted the plans of his dream house.   
He'd always had a thing for architecture, had imagined himself studying it if he hadn't had his life's goal set out for him already so over time he had designed his house in his head. And one bitterly cold night when they were huddling together to keep warm and couldn't even think about sex for fear of their dicks freezing off Arthur had shared his dream house with Eames. Eames who could have thought up some fake mission or other for himself for that week and gone off to his palace to spend the cold snap nice and warm and who instead...  
Arthur can't control the sob that rips out of his throat. Because the picture represents everything he's ever wanted for himself in the world, the one thing he'd had allowed himself to hope for in his whole damn life.

The picture enrages him enough to go look for Eames. He wants, Arthur isn't even sure what he wants but he's better at being angry than at being hurt and right that moment he feels like his insides are being clawed to shreds and he wants to take that out on someone.

Eames doesn't oblige him, but Arthur does find Eames' liquor and that seems an acceptable substitute for the moment. Arthur doesn't get to drink a lot, he doesn't usually get the time and alcohol is hard to come by while on the run as well. Now he's got all the time in world, and the only threat around...Arthur grabs a bottle of something clear and pungent and takes a swing. The fluid burns down his throat and settles in his stomach like a stone. He sort of likes it, the warmth of it anyway; otherwise Arthur doesn't see why people are so eager for it since he doesn't feel a thing.  
Except that the more he drinks the weirder the room seems to get, corners start getting wonky and someone turns the lights behind the windows off. 

He wants Eames, and maybe to get his brain wiped so that he doesn't remember that he can't, isn't supposed to, have Eames because Eames is evil. Maybe he should have known Arthur is good at knowing things; he needs to be to be good at killing things. Only Eames is also funny in an annoying sort of way, and warm and strong enough to screw Arthur against the wall. With Eames...Arthur just might have to admit that it wasn't just screwing. He takes another burning mouthful and tries not to think about the damn house and the dead look in Eames' eyes when he left Arthur to get his shit in order.  
It's Eames' own fault anyway, Arthur decides, who the hell claims to be in love with the enemy? There are bound to be enough people Eames could have fell in love with if he hadn't been plotting and scheming to kill all the rebels. 

Arthur reminds himself of all the people Eames has probably gotten killed over the years because Eames knew what was going to happen and...In a flash of anger Arthur throws the bottle across the room where it shatters against some painting or other the alcohol dripping down the canvas and taking some of the paint along with it. He kind of likes the effect and there are more bottles handy and the liquid in them is all different colors.

Arthur has just started to amuse himself by pouring tiny glasses full of different booze than throwing them at the far wall trying for maybe a tree when the door opens. On instinct the next projectile flies at the intruder.

He watches Eames barely duck the heavy glass that flies apart against the marble door frame. Arthur kind of wishes that he managed to hit Eames' head instead, only he more or less promised to give Eames the month, he still has 15 days to go and then Arthur won't have Eames any more, he'll have nothing except for a house and an obscenely filled bank account and not reason to exist anymore.  
"What the hell Arthur!" Eames snaps at him and Arthur wants to cringe and curl up in a corner because Eames has never snapped at him before. He wouldn't have expected it to hurt this much.

"Arthur?" Eames' rough hand, and how the hell can a dictator's hand be so rough; like that of a factory worker, cups Arthur's cheek, his thumb brushing wetness away. He doesn't know how Eames got across the room so fast, or how water got on his cheeks, he just knows that Eames is there and that he wants.   
Eames is there kneeling right in front of him right in arm's reach. All Arthur has to do is give a twist and a push and Eames is on his back and Arthur can straddle him. Arthur likes that; Eames is always warm and Arthur likes using him as a pillow when he's available. There is fabric in the way and Arthur claws at it until the buttons give way and he can rub his aching head on Eames' hard chest. 

"Arthur, that's not a very good idea. You're drunk off your ass pe..." Arthur hasn't heard Eames use his name so much before. Eames has rarely used Arthur's name in fact, only in public when it had been necessary otherwise showering Arthur with a deluge of pet names.   
Arthur hates hearing his name from Eames, he really does; he wants the ridicules pet-names back.  
He rubs his face against warm skin, opening his mouth to get more of the scent, the familiar taste of skin, under him Eames moans and Arthur takes the sound as encouragement. He licks at the collar bones aching to sink his teeth into the muscle above him to mark that spot again as his. 

"No!" The room spins around him and his back connects painfully with the corner of something but Arthur can only spare any attention for Eames who is sitting up disheveled and panting looking mouthwatering. Arthur shakes the ringing out of his ears, tries to get to his feet but only manages to get to his knees without dropping back down so he starts back to Eames on hand and knees. He doesn't understand why Eames tries to scramble away as soon as he comes close.

"Stay still!" He grumbles trying to grab hold of Eames' ankle. 

"I say 'no' Arthur! Stay the fuck away from me." Eames does manage to get to his feet and Arthur is jealous for a moment until he decides that it doesn't really matter, he can reach all that he wants.

"Why? I can see you want..." He can see a bulge in Eames' trousers that wasn't there before.

"I want a lot of things I can't have." Eames says darkly.

"You can have this..." Arthur argues trying to look up at Eames as he comes close and falling on his side because of it. Because Eames has had this before, and Arthur wants as well even if he's getting more dizzy by the minute. 

"I'm taking you back to your room." All of a sudden Eames' mask is back again, Arthur whimpers when he's suddenly hoisted upright; his arms are twisted behind his back and he's forced to walk to keep them from being twisted out of their sockets.   
He wonders what the servants and guards they have to be passing; Arthur imagines them making quite the spectacle since Eames hasn’t bothered to dress. Arthur is slammed into the wall so Eames can kick the door of his rooms then drags him inside, right through into the bathroom until Arthur finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower.

"If you wanted to fuck in the shower you could have just said..." Arthur frowns up at Eames, tries to focus properly because there are two of Eames towering over him where they should only be one.  
Eames doesn't answer, instead he twists something and Arthur is drowning in ice water. He gasps and sputters, tries to yell but only gets more water in his mouth until he's grabbed and pulled out of the stream. 

"Idiot!" Eames curses at him kneeling down in front of Arthur who wants to pout because he doesn't like being called names. Something flashes in the lights of the bathroom and Arthur freezes at the sight of it. Eames has a knife, Arthur tries to make his muscles obey; make his limbs do what they are supposed to do, what they are trained to do.  
Arthur can't exactly blame Eames; not really, all assassins should be killed after all it only makes since. Only instead of cutting his throat, Eames just cuts the wet shirt off Arthur's body.  
He tries to pull away but only gets shaken like a recalcitrant kitten until he goes limp and his trousers get cut off his body as well. The water is still icy and he feels like he's about to shake apart by the time he's grabbed and pulled from under the water. The warm towel that's wrapped around him is a surprise, Eames' arms around him even more so. Still Eames is close and Arthur can't resist nuzzling at his throat again as Eames dries him off. He wants the taste of Eames, needs to memorize every molecule of it.

"You're killing me Arthur. Won't much matter what happens in two weeks, you've already killed me." Eames whispers in his ear and Arthur wants to tell him that it's going to be alright, that they can forget the whole thing.  
Only the words get stuck in his throat.  
When he gets deposited in the bed Arthur finally manages to catch another decent look at Eames' face and wishes he hadn't. Arthur has rarely seen Eames look this bad, like he hasn't slept in days and Arthur wants to pull him into the bed to make him rest.  
Arthur's arms get pinned under covers that get tucked under the mattress like he's a little kid, and only once it's done does Eames lean over him.

"You're going to thank me in the morning...Arthur." To Arthur it sounds like Eames has to force himself to use the name. He tries to raise his head to get as close to Eames as he can but gets pushed back.   
Just as Arthur is sinking into the black, he feels Eames' lips brush across his own. He tries to ask Eames to do it again, only his tongue doesn't work. 

In the morning there is juice on his bedside table and pills next to it. After downing both Arthur decides to hide in bed until the humiliation wears off. He finds himself grateful that Eames hasn't allowed him to do...and at the same time Arthur hates that he wasn't allowed to get his hands on Eames one last time. He wonders why Eames hasn't taken advantage; finds that he regrets it a bit because if Eames had Arthur could have enjoyed it without feeling guilty. 

He spends the next two weeks barely coming out of his rooms buried in the papers that get delivered to him almost every day. He rigs two terminals and checks and double checks the facts, researches the news he's missed while being sick.   
As far as he can find, Arthur is the only high level fighter left in relative freedom and inside the boarders of the empire. The rest have been either captured of shot on sight, their bodies displayed in the capital or the sight transmitted far and wide. 

He doesn't bother to listen to the speech Eames made wearing a uniform jacket that's smeared with blood Arthur knows to be his. As good as he is Arthur doesn’t dare contact anyone to check if they have managed to escape so for the moment he is alone and not completely sure that he hates the fact.  
If he had the means to contact the others, he'd be duty bound to do so to receive new orders, now he can tell himself that the whole organization has been lost; that he can't do a thing. 

Arthur can see the outline of a possible plan after putting most of the documents together and they do seem to be created to allow a democracy to take hold in time, they do. Only something about them bothers Arthur and he can't find what it is. It gnaws at him, stays in the back of his mind no matter what he does.

He runs out of time before he gets the whole picture together. All of a sudden 30 days have passed, and when Arthur leaves his rooms in the morning in search of food the palace seems empty.   
It seems like every guard and every servant has disappeared. Deciding that he won't be able to stomach anything anyway, Arthur changes direction towards Eames' apartments. The doors have all been thrown open, the stains Arthur has made two weeks ago while drunk are still there, and the destroyed pictures haven't been moved. Eames is sprawled on a lounger, his uniform a mess and an album in his lap. Family pictures by the look of them that Eames is tracing with a finger over and over again.

"Never figured it would end like this, never even thought about the end really, or a beginning for that matter. You can't know unless you've lived it Arthur, that the world is all shades of grey, you can't even imagine it because all you've ever known is black," here Eames points to himself, "and white..." he waves his hand in Arthur's direction. 

"Are you making excuses now?" Arthur isn't sure what he's supposed to be doing now, how this should work. This isn't battle, he doesn't have a plan, and he doesn't even have a weapon.

"No..." Arthur can hear the endearment that isn't voiced, "Just making conversation, a bit maudlin I suppose but I don't seem to be able to bring up any stoicism at the moment." Eames reaches under the lounge and pulls a half full glass of something that might have come from one of the bottles Arthur hadn't managed to smash. 

"I..." Arthur has no idea what the situation requires. He takes a step closer and Eames doesn't react, only takes a swallow from the glass and closes his eyes. Arthur watches his throat work and his lips ache with the need to feel the movement. He's already taken another step before he can get himself under control. 

"There is something for you on the desk, I'm sure you are familiar with the use of it." There is a gun of Arthur's favorite type, and a straight razor; one of those that Eames has always had a fondness for. Arthur is surprised that his fingers are trembling when he reaches to touch them. 

"Cleaned the gun myself, just the way you like it." How he's managing to sound so cheerful, Arthur has no idea and it makes him feel nauseous. He forces his fingers around the butt of the gun and it feels like it weighs a ton when he lifts it. 

"Just tell me, was any of it real?" He hears himself asking all of a sudden, sounding like a little kid. He concentrates on the gun in case looking Eames in the eyes will give him all the answers he needs. 

"Would it matter what I say Arthur? I'm sure you're made up your mind already." Eames closes the album he's been looking at with a snap and throws it behind the lounge. "Not like I was doing much with my life anyway. You might not understand this, but I was raised into this, wouldn't know how to do normal anyway. Don't much want to really, might as well go out with a grand finale! You think you're the only assassin I've had after me? I survived my first assassination attempt at twelve! I'm tired of the game Arthur so you might as well pull the bloody trigger and get it over with!" He leans back throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically suddenly silent and still like he's already dead. 

"I thought you wanted to raise dogs?" As soon as he says it Arthur knows that it's a stupid question, but it's out there and if he has to wait for the answer he doesn't have to lift the gun just yet.

"With you Arthur, only with you! I'd raise fucking chicken with you if that was the requirement to keep you." Eames doesn't remove his hand, but there is a note in his voice that's a little wishful and maybe not as fatalistic as the rest of his tirade.

"You had the house build..."

"It was the only thing I could give you that you couldn't get on your own. Something to remember me by I suppose, if you keep it." Eames becomes wishful again and Arthur can't stand it anymore.

"Were you telling the truth?" Arthur straddles Eames and puts the gun to his head, "I need to know Eames!" Because he might just discover that Eames is lying and then he'll be able to pull the trigger. 

"You know!" Eames' hand is on Arthur's wrist before he can pull away pulling the gun down until it's braces in the middle of Eames' chest and Arthur can feel Eames' finger sliding over his own on the trigger. "You've known for years Arthur." Eames snarls in Arthur's face. Eames' fingers dig into Arthur’s shirt, jerk him down and take Arthur's mouth in a savage kiss. When they finally run out of breath, Eames doesn't let him go.

"Shoot me through the heart Arthur, but promise me that you'll live! Get yourself some nice boy, get a dog and live!" Maybe sometime before Eames that picture could have appealed. Arthur could have convinced himself that he could be that normal, but Eames is right; Arthur doesn't know how to be normal either. Maybe together with Eames he could make something of a life, alone he'll be nothing but a weapon without a handler. 

"I can't!" He moans, and pulls the gun away from Eames' chest; he pulls Eames forward until they are cheek to cheek. "Guess we'll just have to die together." Arthur says as he puts the gun to the side of his head, he's checked the pullets they are a high caliber hollow point going through two skulls isn't really a problem. When he settles down he feels Eames' finger slipping along his own onto the trigger.

"As you wish pet." Eames says and squeezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I'm not feeling vicious enough to write the original ending at the moment, oh well it may yet come. Now going back to normal programming of random Evil Overlord drabbles.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so they aren't as dead as expected...
> 
> Dictator Eames still going.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

 

Arthur's is alright.  
He's made a life for himself after getting out of the hospital and he's doing fine. He's adjusted to a live of a civilian, he's learned all the things he needs to survive as one.  
He doesn't think about the past, as far as he's concerned on daily basis he doesn't have one.  
He's just like most of the former soldiers who were part of the conflict.

The only reminders he can't erase are a scar mostly covered by his hair right at his temple, the ragged edge of his ear and a bunch of medals.  
A few colleagues from the bookshop he works at have tried asking about the medals; they know he was a soldier but unlike some other veterans he doesn't have any stories to tell. The medals just happen to be pinned to his jacket because Dominic pinned them there and Arthur keeps forgetting to remove them. There are veteran benefits as well that Dominic has fixed because he'd worried that Arthur wouldn't make enough to survive otherwise. 

Arthur supposes that it may have been true right after he got out of the hospital.  
Accepting that he would have to live without a purpose had been hard.  
It had certainly taken some time for Arthur to find the tranquility he now enjoys on a daily basis.  
He doesn't want to die any longer, even if he doesn't exactly want to live either, Arthur hasn't bothered to mention to Dominic that if anything dangerous or deadly should happen he won't do anything much to keep himself safe. He's alive and he will be alive until he's not but that doesn't mean he has to have any positive feelings about the situation.

Arthur still finds it Strange that he has friends; people who for unfathomable reasons seem to like his company despite Arthur's moods and lack of effort to keep any sort of relationship going. They even insist on dragging him out on occasion to free him from his self-imposed isolation from time to time.

Ariadne insists on dragging him to art exhibits and museums because innocent that she is, she's convinced that eventually they would find something in one of them that will move Arthur into emotion.  
Arthur doesn't have the heart to tell her that it's extremely unlikely, occasionally he does feel a twinge of warmth that might be something like affection for the people he's gotten used to in the recent years, but overall emotions aren't something Arthur wants to bother with ever again.

Arthur doesn't bother with his heart these days, because that stirs memories of things he doesn't want to think about. When they do crop up he always tries to shut the memories down by force of will, work or exercise. He drowns them in alcohol when all else fails taking days off to spent them wallowing in partial oblivion.

The art exhibit he's wandering through gives him reason to drink as well with its sheer existence.  
It's a grand opening a friend of a friend of Ariadne's had bought tickets too before remembering a previous appointment.  
Arthur was dragged along because Ariadne's boyfriend had put his foot down and outright refused to be part of the horror show. Arthur suspects that the man is going to be an ex-boyfriend soon if he pulls a stunt like that again. Unfortunately since Ariadne has designated him her best friend, he hadn't been given a choice when she had ended up without an escort.

To add insult to injury, Ariadne is known in the art community and a hoard of acquaintances had descended as soon as they came in who had dragged her away leaving Arthur to fend for himself.  
Left to his own devices and unable to leave he's been applying himself to the unimpressive wine with more enthusiasm than probably healthy.

Arthur can say one thing for certain: he doesn't like the paintings on display. They are too cheerful and bright enough to leave him with a headache. He doesn't get abstract art no matter how many people wax poetic about it.  
Hunting for yet another glass of cheep wine Arthur walks into an alcove he hasn't noticed while circling the floor before and feels the haze of alcohol leave him as soon as his eyes focus on the three paintings displayed in the secluded corner.

Arthur's eyes are drawn by a splash of crimson on the middle canvas that resolves itself into a blindfold wrapped around the model's head. It spreads out around the figure making it look like the painted man is reclining in a pool of blood.  
Shades of grey make up a slender body stretched out for the consideration of the viewer; the paint lovingly details the sweat rolling off the narrow chest and...another substance smeared across spread thighs and conclave belly.

It could be anyone and no-one painted on the large square canvas; a figment of an artist's imagination reproduced in pornographic glory...Arthur wants to look away but the other two canvases make that impossible. No matter how he turns his head he's faced with more of the same: only the composition changes from canvas to canvas. The left wall is covered by the image of a male body tied to a chair it's features covered by the same crimson blindfold, and the right wall the body is kneeling in the middle of a messy bed bound and blindfolded yet again; his arms behind his head with the ends of the crimson blindfold spreading out like wings. It's the same model in all three the paintings: all three of them show a scar on the model's ankle a star shaped scar that's clearly visible in every pose.

Arthur knows that scar, knows exactly how the scar was earned, he can feel it burning covered by his sock. Sheer willpower allows him to walk out of the alcove to the nearest bench and collapse there. For once he's grateful that his childhood training allows him to lock his knees despite his shock and walk out of the alcove instead of falling over.

Arthur is surprised to find that he's reached down under his trouser cuff and into the sock to trace the scar the model in the painting displays; the exact same scar that no one alive outside of medical staff should know about. 

Arthur drives his nails into his flesh and takes slow breaths until he feels a little less like razing the whole gallery to the ground. He wants to turn the paintings into ash, pluck out the eyes of everyone who's seen the damn things, destroy all evidence of them so he won't be confronted with them ever again. Arthur barely keeps from clawing his own ankle open just to get rid of the scar. He forces his fingers to relax, sits up straight and closes his eyes and searches out the stillness in his head again, the one that kept him alive through the long years of conflict. As soon as he's sure that he won't drop the phone from his numb hands, Arthur pulls it out and dials Dominic from memory.

"Yeah?" The voice on the other side of the line is tinny due to bad reception. Arthur is almost glad he has to concentrate on keeping the phone pressed to his ear so he can hear.

"You told me he died! You promised me..." Arthur snaps into the mouthpiece not bothering with any greetings. He suspects that an explanation before an accusation might help but with the paintings still vivid behind his eyelids Arthur can't find the right words.

"Arthur is that you? What are you talking about? Where are you? You sound upset?" Dominic's questions cut Arthur's rapid fire accusations off. Despite the lateness of the hour, Arthur notes, his former handler remains calm if a little surprised from what Arthur can hear in his voice.

"I'm at Inception, it's a gallery downtown...Ariadne dragged me to an opening and there are paintings here...I didn't see the name of the artist but...it's me Dom! Someone painted me and I haven't, I wouldn't...Not like that!" Suspicion comes unbidden taking possession of Arthur while he talks, "...Tell me He is dead Dom, swear on the lives of your children that He's dead!" He growls into the phone as nasty suspicions turn the remains of the shock into a fiery rage.  
Arthur is good with rage, always has been, rage and anger have kept him going through a lot of bad things.

"Arthur! You aren't making a lot of sense. Tell me the address for Inception and I will send a car to get you. You can't stay out like this." Dominic ignores all of his questions overriding them with an order disguised as a caring suggestion.

"I'm here with somebody, I can't just leave." Arthur protest because these days he shouldn't have to follow orders no matter how nicely they are delivered.

"I don't care about someone! I care about you, never mind about the address, I have it already. The car is on its way, make your excuses or don't, I expect you to be in it when it returns." Dominic doesn't bother to disguises any longer. Arthur suddenly feels too tired to argue, life long training takes over even now that he doesn't have to obey.

"I really wish you hadn't been at Inception today Arthur." Dominic sighs into the phone and that's practically an answer in itself. It leaves Arthur in a daze, feeling like all of his insides are draining out of him leaving an empty void.

"He lived." Arthur concludes through gritted teeth fighting the urge to destroy something just to get some relief.

"Just get in the car when it gets there, we'll talk about it when you get here." Is the last thing he hears before Dominic hangs up. Arthur forcefully calms down again; clears his mind of all temptation to do violence then finally risks getting up.  
Thankfully his legs don't give out.

Arthur considers telling Ariadne that he's going, but the prospect of explaining again feels like too much effort. Besides explaining that he's leaving, would mean explaining the reason and he'd have to explain a lot more than he cares to at some point in the future too. Arthur finds the back exit and sneaks out into the alley and the cold night air.

The car that comes to pick him up is black, slick and official looking. The people waiting to be let into the gallery shuffle around backing away from it and some even leave their places in the queue to walk away just in case. The car is too official to really fit into the scenery and Arthur wonders if that's deliberate or just Dominic no longer knowing better. He ducks out of the alley and dives into the back seat as soon as the car comes to a full stop. There is only a driver and he doesn't even bother to turn around and check if the right person got in.

The car moves again as soon as the door is shut and Arthur isn't all that surprised when the locks snap imprisoning him in the back seat. In revenge he digs out the crumpled pack of cigarettes he always carries around these days 'just in case' and lights up ignoring several small signs build into the beige interior reminding the occupants not to smoke in the car. The driver doesn't comment even after Arthur puts out the first cigarette on the armrest, so he lights up another one.

Without anything else to do but smoke, Arthur feels like his brain is turning on him. No matter how he tries, a memory the past keeps worming its way up from the dungeons of his mind.  
A memory of being warm, happy and well fed, one of the rare occasions it happened over the long years of service. He'd been safe and, for once, with time on his...their...hands...a situation so unusual that he...they...had actually gotten bored. It's the only time Arthur remembers where drawings were drawings had been involved.  
It's the only time he can remember posing for anything.

They had already been screwing around; necking on the couch like a couple of teenagers they'd never been in real life.  
He'd been sprawled there naked lazy and being warmed by the fire from one side and Eames' bulk from the other.

Eames had been the one to mind the fire, rolling off the couch now and then to poke at the flames or throw another log on. One of those trips he'd come back to Arthur with sooth on his hands that he used to trace the muscles of Arthur's chest and arms leaving black streaks behind.

Arthur'd known that Eames was capable of drawing, but he'd never seen Eames do it before, so when Eames suggested the modeling session Arthur had been curious enough to agree. Feeling mellow and comfortable it had seemed like a good idea, especially since it would occupy them both but didn't require strenuous activity.

Of course there hadn't been any decent drawing paper around, or other supplies for that matter but Eames hadn't been deterred; he'd found some butchers paper and fished several bits of charcoal out of the fire.  
Arthur watched him getting the things together with fascination.

The position Eames pushed him in had been obscene, but Arthur hadn't minded; the attention had aroused instead of embarrassing him. To have Eames sitting on the floor next to the couch looking up at him; studying him like Arthur was the most precious thing in the world had made his head spin harder than the shots of questionable alcohol they had been drinking before Eames got the bright idea to draw him. Eames had talked the whole time he'd been drawing.

He'd told Arthur how hot he looked sprawled there naked painted by the light of the fire. How clear the lines of his limbs were, how hot it made Eames to put Arthur in any position he liked and commit it to paper so he could keep the memory close when Arthur himself wasn't there.  
Every time he finished a sketch Eames took the time to reposition Arthur again, leaving black finger prints and smudges all over Arthur's skin.

By the time Eames got bored with drawing on paper Arthur had looked like a Dalmatian. Eames laughed when Arthur had blurted the comparison out, then he had wiped his fingers across Arthur's cheekbones. The black stripes had made them stand out like razors.

After that Eames decided to use Arthur's skin as a canvas instead. Arthur had been make to lie there while Eames made patters on his skin with coal and fingers; darkening the hollows and accentuating angles all the while keeping Arthur on the very edge, taunting him into keeping control. 

The cabin had an old wardrobe with a mirror inset in one of the doors as its only luxury item. Eames manhandled Arthur there after he had deemed his work finished.  
Arthur hadn't recognized the person he'd seen in the mirror.  
His reflection had been alien even savage and he had wondered if this was how Eames, how everyone, saw him. 

Eames had patiently waited for Arthur to have looked his fill before proceeding to smear all of his work. Arthur'd been made to bracket the mirror with his arms; to watch himself as Eames licked, kissed and nipped his way down Arthur's spine. Eames' hands roamed Arthur's skin leaving strange lines and swirls in their wake.  
Eames had sucked and nipped a mark in the small of Arthur's back as his thick,skilled fingers had worked Arthur open with the help of spit and little else. Arthur had been made to watch his own face as Eames pushes into him filling him up completely.  
Trapped between the icy mirror and Eames' warm flesh all Arthur could do was watch as Eames' hands got black from wandering his skin as he slowly fucked Arthur until Arthur spills all over the mirror.  
Arthur hadn't notice that Eames covered his hands with his own until Eames pulls out leaving Arthur's back chilled and allows Arthur to step away from the mirror. The pale wood of the wardrobe bore the outline of Arthur's hands surrounded by the smeared prints of Eames' coal dirties fingers. 

Dominic lives in a far better part of the city than Arthur, having always been higher on the food-chain than Arthur could ever hope to be. It takes quite a while to reach the gated community hindered by traffic despite the late hour. The back seat is a mess by the time they arrive; Arthur has run out of cigarettes but not out of rage. The painting keeps floating up to the foreground of his mind no matter how he tries to suppress it along with the question what else Dominic has lied to him about.

Dominic is waiting in front of the house when Arthur arrives frowning into the darkness under the porch light and with a mobile phone in both cardigan pockets.

"Arthur, are you alright? Do you need something? Something to drink maybe?" He asks as soon as Arthur walks up the path.

"I want answers." Arthur snaps refusing to mention that he also needs cigarettes. He could use another pack; as long as he's smoking he can keep it together. The last thing Arthur wants is for Dominic to know how much he's actually been affected, outside of the evidence he's already provided over the phone.

"At least have some coffee first." Dominic offers herding Arthur into the kitchen. In Arthur's experience, Dominic prefers to have good news conversation in his office and bad news conversations in the kitchen, or whatever passes for a kitchen at the location. Arthur suspects it's because Dominic can ply people with hot beverages that way.

Arthur doesn't bother to sit down, he watches Dominic putter around messing with the coffee. He keeping his hands on the counter top just to he isn't tempted to put them somewhere else in the meantime, like maybe around Dominic's throat.

"I didn't figure you for an art lover Arthur." Dominic sighs, shoving a mug in Arthur's direction.

"I'm not, a...friend of mine is, she dragged me out." Arthur explains taking a sip of the coffee, he tries to read Dominic's face but the man has too many expressions at once; it's what makes him such a good information expert and handler. 

"It's Him isn't it?" He pushes when Dominic just keeps frowning at him.

"Arthur you have to understand, it was a delicate situation; most of the high command had been wiped out and we needed to stabilize the country as soon as possible. He was the best means to do that..."

"You should have told me he was still alive!" Arthur growls slamming the mug onto the table.

"I've watched the effect he has on you, it wasn't healthy and this way it was a clean break." Arthur wants to slap Dominic for being so rational.

"You had no right!" He growls barely keeping himself from screaming for the sake of the children sleeping upstairs.

"I had every right. What do you think would have happened if we hadn't gotten there in time? He wasn't planning on letting you go Arthur! You would have spend the rest of your life in a cage for his entertainment!" Arthur digs his fingers into the counter top; it's not like Dominic is telling him something that he hasn't thought about.  
Eames...just thinking the name hurts like getting shot again, Eames had always been a possessive bastard. It wouldn't really have surprised Arthur if Eames had decided to 'keep' him. He wouldn't have forgiven Eames for it, but getting caged wouldn't have come as a surprise.

"I know." He sighs forlornly.

"What do you mean 'I know'?" Dominic yells at him for once giving Arthur a glimpse behind his mass of calm control.

"I want his location." Arthur counters ignoring his handler's worried question. Now that he knows it's possible he wants to see, to touch, to get the closure the doctors at the hospital told Arthur he needs, to kill the bastard properly. He wonders if Dominic suspects what Arthur wants. Dominic has often been unnervingly perceptive in regards to Arthur's motivation.

"I can't give you that." Dominic snaps at once and for an instant Arthur considers how much effort it will take to torture the information out of he man. His kids are sleeping upstairs, threatening them won't take too much effort especially considering the house has a properly stocked kitchen and probably a properly stocked garage as well. 

"There are two guards in the next room, one more on the second floor and an alarm cuff around my wrist." Dominic tells him casually making himself a cup of coffee as well. 

"While I can appreciate your need for, shall we say, closure...," Arthur has to swallow a snort, "I can't assist you with it at the moment. Command still thinks we need him so chances are if you make waves, you will be the one to get terminated." Dominic obviously doesn't like warning him, but Dominic lives with having done a lot of things he doesn't like, Arthur doesn't doubt that he'll do as Command says no matter his feelings on the subject. 

"My reaction would have been better if I had been told..." he points out.

"You didn't need to know..." Arthur barely resists tossing a mug at Dominic's head. The soldier in him agrees, but the man can't wrap his head around the need-to-know, not after what they had meant to each other. 

"Go home Arthur, let it sink in and let it go." Dominic advises setting his own mug aside and shuffling up to Arthur to awkwardly pet him on the shoulder.

"And if I do what happens to the paintings?" Because they are still on display showing a part of Arthur that shouldn't be shown in public at all.

"I...maybe you should stay out of the gallery district for a while? He...they aren't the only ones, he paints a lot and..." Dominic waves a hand helplessly and falls silent with a guilty shrug when Arthur just glares.

"You're making excuses for a monster!" Arthur whispers, "You're making excuses for a monster you've spend half your life fighting and what's worse you're hurting one of your own people to do it! Or have I been written off now that I'm no longer the monster's whore?" He snarls stalking around the counter to pin Dominic against the wall. Behind him, Arthur can hear the door to the kitchen opening and knows that the guards have decided to come monitor the situation.

"We didn't want to hurt you further, you'd suffered enough." Arthur might have been tempted to believe that argument before, but not now and certainly not with guards at his back. Dominic shakes his head gently, he distances himself from Arthur without moving.

"You're not going to do anything are you?" Arthur concludes, he pushes Dominic away and stalks to the only corner of the room where he's equally far away from both Dominic and the goons.

"I don't see what I can do..." Dominic still tries to explain to Arthur's irritation, "They are just paintings, the ones he displays, they never show a face he's famous for that in fact." While he talks, Dominic still inches towards the guards and further away from where Arthur is standing.

"I can't forgive this Dom, do you understand that? I can't forgive this unless you give me a location, give Him to me." Arthur warns already aware that he's wasting his breath. He knows Dominic well enough to know that if Dominic believes something, he won't be swayed for anything especially if his superiors agree.

"I'm sorry Arthur." Is tossed as his back. He doesn't bother to answer, just turns around and walks out of the kitchen, out of the house and down the street. Dominic yells something about giving him a lift at his back but Arthur can't stomach the thought of accepting even a ride from the man.

It's afternoon when he finally reaches his apartment not sure how he's crossed the city on foot to get there without getting picked up by police forces or mugged. Dominic's words roll around in his head 'they are just paintings, the ones he displays, they never show a face...' they gnaw at him. Arthur can't bare the thought that somewhere out there paintings that do show his face are waiting to be seen by some stranger as well.

There are a dozen messages on his answering machine, most of them from Ariadne and a couple of them from Yusuf all wondering where he's disappeared off to the night before and if he's OK. Since Arthur doesn't know how to answer the question he deletes everything and doesn't bother calling back.  
Instead he digs up his laptop and starts searching.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dictator Eames drabble the sage goes on

By the time he hits the Lake district Arthur starts wondering why no one has bothered to stop him yet. He'd been careful, but not that careful and Dominic has far more resources at his disposal than Arthur, he'd half expected there to be a watch on his apartment building when he got there but no one had been watching. Arthur wonders if this isn't Dominic's way of apologizing for refusing to do anything officially. Not that Arthur suspects Dominic of having that much kindness in him.

He'd spend several days digging through the information available and not before one of the owners of the gallery lead him to the Lake district. Arthur is perfectly aware that it might be a dead end, but the trips the young businessman took seemed to coincide with every one of E. Forger's shows. The name set Arthur's teeth on edge reminding him of all the lectures Eames had given about 'hiding in  plane  sight' over the time Arthur had known him. He wonders how Command has managed to keep Eames hidden over the years: the man had the most recognizable face in the country if not the world. Even hiding in the  boonies , someone should have recognized him and sounded the alarm.

Stealing a car had been easy, his fingers did the work without conscious input from his mind. Arthur had been out of the city before he knew it. He hadn't bothered to tell anyone that he was going. Someone was bound to raise alarm eventually, but he'd never kept anything important at his flat and the documents in his pocket came from an emergency stash he'd made long before the war had been over. Even Dominic wouldn't remember to look for him under the name his documents carried now.

With his destination in sight Arthur stops the car for the first time in 24 hours. He'd almost collapsed with exhaustion before and been forced to stop the car for at least a minimal amount of sleep. The last two weeks of preparation and travel are a blur that mostly involves road. Almost at the end of the road, his whole plan feels surreal.  He crawls into the backseat and closes his eyes. 

For the first time in years there is a gun strapped to his ankle that's getting in the way of getting comfortable and a holster with another one digging into his ribs.  Fortunately he hasn't lost the knack of falling asleep no matter the turmoil in his head. It's conveniently dark when he wakes up again feeling like he's crawling out of a black hope instead of opening his eyes. Checking the directions for the last time he drives through town, the directions guide him off the main road and almost misses the next turn that takes him into the woods.

In the silence the car makes too much noise so he leaves it behind walking the rest of the way. The house stands on a clearing: smaller than he expected,  two stories and a huge glassed in terrace that will catch all the sun during the day and looks out over a lake. He can't spot a car, but there is a high chance that there is a garage on the other side of the house. Most of the house is dark and his informant mentioned after some persuasion that there is only electronic security and the occupant  tend to forget to turn it on at night. Arthur circles the house several times before approaching but the information he's been given seems to be in order. He can't take the time to  stake  the place out  properly , make sure that Eames is alone. There is security  as expected but not enough of it to keep Arthur out.

In the dim all Arthur can see is shapes but even they show that Eames may be deposed but he certainly hasn't been left to languish in poverty. He doesn't bother to inspect anything except not to make sure that there is no one else in the house. Up the stairs he freezes at the only closed door unsure all of a sudden if entering is wise. Eames doesn't have to be alone and Arthur isn't sure if he's willing to shoot anyone else in cold blood.

The idea that Eames might have someone else, anyone else is alien and enraging. Jealousy is an emotion Arthur isn't really familiar with: he's had little chance to be jealous of anyone mostly because he's never needed or wanted anything except to fight for the cause before and no one deprived him of that. The thoughts make him hesitate in front of the door for long moments, quite a difference from the last time he barged in on Eames then he'd been eager to get it over with, now he isn't sure.

In the end he pushes all concerns down and slams the lid on all doubt and kicks the door in.  He flips the light switch but  before he can zero in on the figure sprawled across the bed, his attention is drawn to the multi-coloured walls all of them filled with variations of his likeness. He freezes in shock breath caught in his lungs no longer registering anything but his own eyes staring down at him from all around the room.


	10. Chapter 10

_I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well._

 

 

Eames moans into the gag in protest.

Long, thin and very strong fingers dig into his flesh, pinch, pull and squeeze and overall torture his chest. Sometime since this torture has started, his shirt has gotten undone and his tormentor is playing with his bare flesh.

As much as Eames tries to struggle against the bonds keeping his arms tied behind his back and to the seat and his body and legs tied to the chair. Eames curses the goons who have been extra thorough or had been watching bondage porn the night before because the ropes have not only been wrapped around his waist and thighs as is somewhat usual, but around his chest as well.

Pulled through under his arms and wrapped around the chair and across Eames' sternum, they feel like they are pushing his pectorals up and forward in an obscene display that his captor/tormentor notices almost at once and appreciates way to much.

It's hard to miss really; Eames has a nice chest after all, he's put a lot of effort in getting it that way over the years. That doesn't mean he wants this kind of attention on it; he's not supposed to be grabbed that way!

There is no point in pinching his nipples because they aren't sensitive any way, only under the fingers of his captor they are.

The hands tormenting him pull away for a moment, but Eames can feel his captor's hot breath on the back of his neck and knows that the respite won't last long.

 

The hands spread across his pectorals, cup the hard muscle, squeeze again and push Eames' pecks together until between the ropes and the hands on his flesh it looks like Eames actually has cleavage. He twists his head so that he doesn't have to look down, and instead can catch a glimpse of his assailant who seems to be completely focused on Eames' chest.

 

He looks hungry, so fucking hungry that Eames has to close his eyes and bite his tongue even with the gag because that look makes his cock twitch and swell. The man manhandling his body laughs in Eames' ear low and soft.

 

"Having fun Mr. Eames?" The purred words are punctuated with a sharp nip at the lobe of his ear. He can't answer, not with the gag in place but it seems the question is rhetorical anyway as his assailant keeps on talking, "I certainly am. Haven't had my hands on a tit-slut like you in a while."

Eames tries to pull away when the side of his neck is bitten but only accomplishes giving his assailant more surface room to work with. Eames feels like the whole side of his neck is about as raw as his abused chest by the time the guy is done with him and starts talking again. 

 

"Tell me, when you're fucking your girlfriend and sucking on her tits, have you ever wanted to get your tits sucked instead? Having someone's hot, wet mouth on them, maybe a mouth on each nursing on your horny, fat nipples." The man rubs against Eames as he circles around Eames' chair to make himself comfortable in Eames' lap. 

Eames unfortunately is blessed with a lot of imagination, so yeah he can imagine having his nipples sucked. Only somehow instead of full lipsticked lips on his chest there are thin, slightly chapped ones instead accompanied by sharp teeth. The weight of the slender sharp faced man settles in his lap grinding into his cock as the man smirks satanically.

 

"I think you like that idea Mr. Eames." The man sinks his teeth into Eames' neck again, then bites down across his shirt and down again until his mouth his hovering right about Eames' right nipple and the abused flesh is itching from the hot breath hitting it. 

He is almost ready for the lips or teeth to close around his flesh when instead they snap in inch from it.

 

"You want it don't you? Not really surprising with tits like that, it's a wonder you don't constantly beg everyone to work them." The man rocks in Eames' lap a couple of more times, his tight ass giving the exact amount of friction Eames definitely, absolutely doesn't need. He growls when the man finally leans down again but licks his own lips instead of Eames' chest.

 

"I'm almost sorry I'll have to give you back eventually, if your boss pays up." That's when Eames remember that he's a prisoner again and that the guy in his lap is an enemy. He's almost manages to get his thought on track when the man dives down and starts worrying at Eames' left nipple. 

It feels like the man might as well be sucking on Eames' cock for some reason Eames can't quite wrap his head around. In the end, all he's capable of is moaning because struggling only makes things worse.

 

"Sweet..." The man mumbles between bites and sucks and the compliment makes him feel far too hot and itchy. If he wasn't gagged, Eames isn't sure what he would be doing; begging for more or cursing at the man to leave him the fuck alone. Only that's the moment the man chooses to bite down again and flick his tongue across Eames' nipple at the same time and Eames is done. 

He's back to moaning and trashing much to the man's amusement. The damn man simply hooks his feet under the rungs of the chair and bites down harder.

 

"Damn I wish I could keep you!" The man moans between bites as his hand finds it's way between their bodies to rub at Eames' overly interested cock and for once Eames curses the fact that he doesn't wear underwear as a habit. 

 

"You're going to come for me Mr. Eames, right in your pants like the dirty slut you are." The man purrs in between bites and licks and to his shame Eames can see it happening. The man's purring vibrates through Eames' chest as he switches from one nipple to the other biting it's way from one to the other in between curses.

Eames tries to think about women, about his last girlfriend and the porn actress he had watched the week before, anything to block out that he person in his lap is male and going to make Eames come any minute now.

 

"Such pretty tits should be put on display so everyone who wants to play with them can." The man growls into Eames' ear as his fingers find Eames' nipples again to twist them savagely. "Passed around like the pretty toy you are, until you're crying because your tits are sore and still coming every time someone touches them." Nails rake across Eames' pectorals as the man surges forward mouthing at the gag in a parody of a kiss that sends Eames over the edge that he's been teetering on. 

In his lap the man laughs as he watches Eames shake through his orgasm before finally getting up. 

The man takes his place behind Eames' chair again. Eames wonders what else the man can do to him when the man leans in, grabs him by the hair and rips the tape that functioned as the gag off. Eames feels like half the skin of his lips has been ripped off as well. Just as he wants to lick his lips, the man gives another jerk on his hair and there is a flash. 

After that, the man leaves and Eames is stuck sitting in his own mess waiting for whatever is going to happen next. 

 

Hours later a couple of goons come in to untie him making sure to keep a gun on him at all times. his phone and empty gun are returned to him then he is kicked out on the street. He has no idea where he is, but it looks a lot like the middle of nowhere far from the capitol where Eames started out the day before.

The first thing he does is button his shirt as well as he can then he opens his phone to call someone for a ride, wondering how he's going to explain where he need a pickup without knowing where he is in the first place.

 

There is a new text that only contains a picture when opened.

It's of him just moments after he's come, trousers clearly wet, bare chest a mess of bite marks and scratches, his nipples clearly hard and swollen obscenely, his lips swollen as well and only he knows that it's from having tape over his mouth and not from kissing or even sucking cock...

Eames checks the number the picture has come from, and all he gets is a name: Arthur.       


	11. Chapter 11

_ My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon. _

 

Arthur vaguely remembers that his father had a mistress around the time he had been a child. The woman had come with his when his father had married his mother. The marriage hadn't exactly been happy, not that he'd seen much of it neither of his parents had believed in a hands-on approach to parenting. The mistress disappeared around the time of a major scandal, something about a threat to succession. He had been small enough then not to pay attention to something like that. 

 

Hindsight tells him that he'd been wrong in not paying attention. If he had, there was a small chance he wouldn't have ended up under house arrest after having watched his father executed by the invading army. 

If he had paid attention he might have known that he had a half brother; an illegitimate one, but older and under the impression that he had a right to the throne as well. 

A half brother under who's orders Arthur was currently being held prisoner, so the man could decide what to do with him. 

He's tried to escape a couple of times already, but security is tight and he's never had to sneak around before. So he's gotten caught each and every time even before he got out of the castle. 

In the end, they had just barred the doors to the tower that's this residence and left him to it only delivering food once or twice a day. 

 

Without the possibility of escape, Arthur is pretty sure what's going to happen to him. While there might be some supporters of his claim scattered about the kingdom, he doubts that they will manage to beat his half brother before he makes it to the capitol. And once the man arrives, Arthur is pretty sure he's going to die; messily and publicly so there are no misunderstanding and no rebellion later on.

 

He hears the door at the base of the tower open, then slam shut but doesn't bother to get up from his reading. If it's the food, it will still be there after he finishes the chapter, if it's something else... He isn't in any hurry either way. 

Only when he hears someone ascending the steps does he bother looking up. For once the food seems to be coming to him; the tray being born by a squire Arthur can't help but admire for a moment. 

 

The man is broad shouldered and rough looking and when he sees Arthur looking he winks. At once a cold chill runs down Arthur's spine as he wonders how anyone could have discovered his depraved proclivities, and then he remembers that it doesn't really matter. He's a prisoner and most likely about to be killed so he might as well enjoy himself for once in his life. 

Despite the blush that threatens to set his ears on fire he meets the squire's insolent gaze head on and lets his full appreciation show. The squire grins at him as he comes closer while looking for a place to set down the trey. 

 

"Am I getting preferential treatment all of a sudden?" Arthur asks as he wonders how people go about asking if someone they have never met before would like to have sex.

 

"Huh?" The man frowns at him looking a little confused.

 

"Usually they leave the food downstairs." The confusion disappears and the man grins at him again.

 

"Oh that, suppose that I should have, but I wanted to see a real prince..." 

 

"Before it's too late?" Arthur snipes, not that he can blame the attractive man for being curious most people go their whole lives without seeing royalty even the ones who work close to the court.

 

"Well, look away! Hope I'm not too much of a disappointed." He leans back in his chair trying to look casual and in control.

 

"Oh believe me luv, not disappointed at all..." The squire purrs rubbing his thumb across his lips and drawing Arthur's attention there. 

 

"I haven't seen you before have I?" Arthur wonders hoping to keep the man talking until he figures out how to present his offer.

 

"Doubt it; spend most of my time in the stables." The man shoves his hands into the pockets of his tight trousers and leaning his hip against the table.

 

"You're probably right, never go there." Not that Arthur would mind, but there are usually so many other things to get done before he can go amuse himself...

 

"Not much of a rider then?" The squire asks and Arthur wonders at the tone that's suddenly a little bit rougher than before.

 

"Never learned how..." He starts to feel hot under the squires curious gaze like he's been standing in the sun too long, it makes him squirm. The squire pushes off the table he's leaning on and takes a few steps towards Arthur; his hips swaying, the tight trousers drawing attention to the man's thighs and other assets. Arthur has to crane his neck to keep looking the man in the face.

 

"Would you like to?" The squire's hand slips out of his pocket and reaches for Arthur only to stop inches his face. Arthur knows that what he's being offered has nothing to do with horses what so ever. He should say 'no' and let the man leave, but can't convince himself that any of his actions can still have an impact, it isn't like he'll be bothered by whatever rumors or stories that this man will spread around after Arthur's death.

 

"Are you going to be teaching me?" He wonders leaning in to brush his cheek against the hand that's still hovering close. The fingers are rough with calluses against his cheek big, warm and gentle as they trace Arthur's jaw line. 

 

"Wouldn't trust anyone else to do it proper like." The man purrs, leaning down to grab Arthur by the upper arms to pull him out of the chair. They turn out to be about the same height to Arthur's surprise, the squire seemed taller from where he was sitting. The man's hands slide down Arthur's arms then find his waist and van out across Arthur's hips.

 

"Not that hard really, with proper instruction..." Eames' hands burn even through the fabric of Arthur's trousers. He isn't sure where he's supposed to do with his hands until Eames pulls him closer and Arthur had to grab hold of the broad shoulders.

 

"What's your name?" Arthur can't help asking, not sure if he's breaking some kind of etiquette for casual encounters or not. 

 

"The name is Eames." The squire says cocking his head and brushing his lips against Arthur's. Eames tastes like strong coffee and something sweet, Arthur opens his mouth when Eames' tongue begs entry.

 

"Eames..." Arthur moans when Eames pulls away to catch a breath. He finds that he's dug his nails into Eames' muscles, has plastered himself against the man like a limpet. Kissing a man is far better than Arthur has even imagined; powerful and addictive.

"Such a sweet thing, aren't you?" Eames murmurs into Arthur's ear as his surprisingly nimble fingers work their way under Arthur's shirt. "Wonder if you're sweet everywhere?"

He slowly drags his hands up across Arthur's flanks and scratches up across his ribs until he has to nudge Arthur to raise his arm so Eames can pull the shirt over Arthur's head. Once the fabric is out of the way, Eames bites and licks his way down from Arthur's ear down to his bare chest. Arthur can feel that Eames hasn't shaved in some time; the bristles of Eames' stubble irritate Arthur's skin in a way that isn't supposed to be pleasant and yet is. Eames' lips close around Arthur's nipple and Arthur digs his fingers into Eames' short hair grabbing hold of it in an attempt to keep Eames from moving along.

 

"Not going anywhere..." Eames purrs against Arthur's sternum, it makes Arthur shiver and pull at Eames' shirt wanting to do some exploring of his own. Eames straightens up to look around until he finds the bed while Arthur makes short work of unbuttoning the grimy cotton. Arthur pushes the material aside and lays his hands on the broad sunburned, suspender bisected chest. He's never allowed himself that kind of exploration; the pleasure of feeling hard muscle under his hands, the power of them. Eames smells like hay, leather and plane soap, to Arthur his skin tastes like sunshine. He imitates Eames' exploration of his own body, licks along a collar bone and down enjoying the freedom to just feel. 

Eames steps away and Arthur follows until they are standing next to the bed. Eames slips the shirt off his shoulders and Arthur moans at the sight of all the bare flesh that's all his to touch. He hooks his fingers behind the suspenders and starts to push them off when Eames stops him. 

 

"Take the rest of your clothes off for me Arthur." The words are soft, gentle and far more seductive than such an order should be. When Arthur is standing naked in front of Eames he can't suppress a tremble because Eames is still mostly dressed, suddenly he wonders if this isn't a joke being played on him or something like that, not until Eames steps closer again and takes Arthur's mouth in another searing kiss. Bare skin against bare skin they sway together Eames drops to sit on the bed, to look up at Arthur with a devilish smirk.

 

"As nice as this is, weren't we going to hold a lesson?" And Arthur has to concentrate to frown down at Eames who pulls Arthur close to tongue fuck his navel then throws himself back to lie on the bed. As Arthur watches, Eames unbuttons his trousers and pulls himself out shocking Arthur with the lack of underwear. Eames' cock is different from his, Arthur finds that he's already dropped to his knees for a closer look. The skin there is more delicate, the flesh hotter and springy. Arthur curls his hand around it studying the way the skin moves when he touches it the same way he would touch himself. Above him, Eames moans long and low startling Arthur into looking up; Eames has raised himself on his elbows his eyes burning with lust, his mouth swollen from where he's been biting his lower lip while he let Arthur explore. When Arthur looks back down, there is clear fluid beading at the tip that Arthur can't resist licking away. 

It's bland yet salty and he wants more of it to pin down the taste when Eames sits up again and bodily drags Arthur up onto the bed.

 

"Lessons first pet! Playing around later, if you aren't too worn out by then that is." Eames lectures as he taps Arthur's nose with a finger until Arthur bats his finger away.

 

"And how exactly are you planning to give any lessons without a horse?" Arthur asked peeved to have his exploration be interrupted. He doesn't expect to be grabbed by the neck and dragged down into a breathtaking kiss.

 

"Well Arthur, you can always ride me." Eames whispers after they have to untangle to catch a breath and once the idea penetrates Arthur's lust fogged brain he can't do anything but moan and offer his mouth for another kiss. 

 

"Please..." He begs because he feels like his whole body is on fire with need. The thought that Eames is going to be inside him, that he's going to take the cock he's just touched for the first time inside of him, it makes Arthur dizzy just thinking about it. In the grip of his need Arthur pushes Eames back onto his back and straddles the trip waist already reaching behind him when Eames grabs a hold of him again.

 

"Not so fast! As much as I'd love to have you sitting on my cock already, we have to prepare that lovely little ass of yours." Arthur blushes at the course words but stills waiting for whatever Eames plans to do. Eames doesn't push him off; instead he guides Arthur to lie down on his chest. Eames' hands close around Arthur's ass cheeks squeezing and kneading the flesh as they start to rock together. Another kiss takes Arthur's attention from the sensations rubbing through his body until he feels something pushing against his anus. 

Objectively Arthur knows what is going to happen, that it's quite possibly going to hurt.

 

"Need something to slick you up." Eames murmurs against Arthur's lips while his finger keeps rubbing across the tight muscle he intends to breach. As much as Arthur doesn't want to lose any contact with Eames, he sits up sliding just a little bit back so he feels the hard cock that's waiting for him against his ass. Eames bites his lip again as Arthur wiggles until he can reach the bedside table while keeping his seat. Arthur does a blind grab into the drawer until his hand closes around a small bottle of oil he managed to swipe a while ago to use while jerking off. 

He gives the bottle to Eames who drenches his fingers in the glossy substance then slips his fingers back between Arthur's ass cheeks. This time when Eames pokes at Arthur's anus, it isn't as uncomfortable the slickness allows one of the thick fingers to slip inside. The feeling is strange; it's an intrusion despite it being wanted. To keep himself from over thinking Arthur covers his mouth for another kiss that Eames grants him eagerly. 

 

"That's it love, relax for me." Another finger slips in making Arthur moan not sure if he wants more or wants to pull away. Eames shushes him, distracts Arthur with soft teasing kisses and playful nips at his lips. Arthur can't help being surprised when he flexes his muscles and discovers that a third finger was added without noticing. They move inside of him, opening him up bit by bit, push in deeper until they hit something that makes him cry out.

Eames curses and Arthur feels him straining to keep control. He leans down and experimentally nips at Eames' throat and the curses go up in volume. 

 

"Don't tease Arthur! I don't want to hurt you." Eames begs and Arthur can't help smiling because Eames is one of the few who has ever actually cared about Arthur's well being first and their own gratification second.

 

"You won't hurt me," he mouths into Eames' flesh slowly starting to grind himself against Eames' body, "In fact you're going to make me feel very, very good." He bites at Eames' throat again and tightens his ass around Eames' fingers.

 

"Alright, alright, getting the hint darlin'!" Eames gasps as he wiggles his fingers working them out of Arthur's ass slowly. He reaches for the bottle again but Arthur beats him to it pouring the oil into his hand then reaching back to take Eames' cock in hand. Eames' digs his fingers into Arthur's thighs moaning as he tries not to thrust into Arthur's hand and buckle Arthur off. 

Arthur bites his lip, grips the base of Eames' cock tighter then raises himself up, he feels Eames' hands spreading his ass cheeks and feels the head of Eames' cock starting to push against his ass.

He can't help whimper when he's breached but Eames' hands rubbing the small of his back and shushing him, stopping Arthur from taking more until he relaxes again. It seems to last an eternity before Arthur realizes that he can't sink down any further, he moans enjoying the fullness and sense of connection to another human being. 

 

He looks down at Eames half expecting some absurd instructions; only Eames doesn't seem capable of speech. He's panting through his clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut and for all that he's holding Arthur like he's liable to break every muscle in Eames' body seems to be tight with tension. 

 

"Eames..." It takes a couple of tries before Eames opens his eyes seemingly getting himself under control. 

 

"You're going to be the death of me pet..." He moans resting his hands on Arthur's hips again, "Now be a love and get your knees under you." He tells Arthur between big gulps of breath. When Arthur does as requested, he realizes that he can lift himself up a bit. He doesn't like the feeling of Eames leaving him, but when Arthur lets himself drop back down again a cry escapes him at the sensation that explodes through his body.

 

Arthur braces himself on Eames' chest wanting as much contact as possible and shifts around as he raises his body up and lets it drop again until the waves of pleasure consistently run through his body and Eames is cursing again. 

 

"That's it love, you're a natural!" Eames manages to get out between moans and curses and even Arthur feels a blush coming on despite the situation. Eames' hands dig into his flesh and Arthur hopes they will leave bruises that will last. Slowly Eames starts to move his hips as well, thrusting up as Arthur lets himself drop and making Arthur see stars.

 

His thighs start to shake with exertion the skin of them irritated from rubbing against the harsh fabric of Eames' trousers, his hands start to slip on Eames' sweat slicked skin and Arthur starts to panic that he won't be able to keep the rhythm long enough. He's so close that he can feel his release already building inside of him, but if he has to stop... Under his Eames' groans turn into growls and the hands around his hips tighten even more. Arthur isn't sure how he ends up on his back, but all of a sudden Eames is above him; hooking his arms under Arthur's knees and spreading him wide. The next time Eames fucks into him all Arthur can to is scream from the force of it; not that he's on his back they are practically plastered together. Arthur can feel his cock grind against Eames' abdomen, can feel Eames' sweat dripping down on his chest and all of it only adds to the sensations bringing him closer and closer to the edge. He barely finds the coordination to wrap his arms around Eames' neck, to pull him even closer and find Eames' mouth with his own. 

 

The stutter of Eames' hips is the only warning Arthur gets before he feels Eames coming inside of him. The sensation of the wetness flooding him, coupled with Eames' hand wrapping around his cock sends him over the edge as well with a scream of joy. 

When Arthur can think again he is no longer covered by his lover. Eames is sprawled next to him still wearing his pants and boots his cock obscenely exposed. The sight sends a tingle through Arthur's exhausted body that he tries to ignore. He wonders what he's supposed to do now, if he can ask Eames to come back again tomorrow or possibly every day until...

 

"Bloody hell this wasn't the plan..." Eames groans making a clumsy attempt to roll over.

 

"Plan?" Arthur wonders suddenly on guard.

 

"Plan." Eames confirms not even bothering to open his eyes. "The Plan in fact. Take over the country; kill the king, kill the obnoxious half-brother heir to the throne, all perfectly legit..."  He muses not even noticing that Arthur reaches into the bedside drawer again.

 

"Wouldn't recommend eating anything on the tray by the way; all of its poisoned so we'll have to order something up if you’re peckish."

 

From the high of moment before Arthur feels like he's spiraling down into a debilitating darkness.

He's just allowed his half brother to fuck him, in fact had wanted to ask for more only seconds ago from the man who had killed... His hand closes around the gun he's kept in the secret compartment in the bedside table since the moment he'd been strong enough to fire it properly. He puts it to the larger man's head; the cold barrel against sweaty skin.

 

"Now Arthur, you can't blame me...I couldn't have known that you're such a sweet little thing in privet! Dear old daddy sure did a turn on your public image."

 

"Give me one reason to let you live?" Arthur grits out already planning another escape attempt this one without trying to spare the other side casualties that is bound to succeed. 

 

"Well for one, you can't marry a dead man darlin'" Eames smirks at him and Arthur can see that he's barely cracked an eye to judge Arthur's reaction to what he's just said.

 

"And why would I want to marry a stranger who also happens to be my half brother?" He cocks the gun mentally preparing himself for killing a man.

 

"Because you would have done that anyway eventually to inherit the throne, and at least I'm hot and you already know that you're going to like the sex." Eames' hand somehow finds its way to Arthur's spend and still sensitive cock to run a finger up the side making Arthur twitch. It must be the hormones still flooding Arthur's system because what Eames is saying actually makes a twisted sort of sense.

 

"And here I was imagining running away with a stable boy..." He laments as he drops the gun and slumps back onto the bed.

 

"Looking forward to getting tumbled in the hay? We can still do that; don't think the horses will mind." Eames tells him as he finally manages to roll over to make himself comfortable using Arthur for a pillow. 

 

"I think I'd like that." Arthur whispers to himself suddenly seeing a future again, not one he would have expected, but a future none the less. 


	12. Chapter 12

_ All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal. _

 

Fishing a DVD out of the mail sets off alarms bells in Eames' head, even before he's sees the content of the grainy video feed. When he does see it, he almost breaks the remote control watching

 

Arthur get shot and fall to the ground over and over again because Eames can't stop watching in the hope that on the next time the shot go wide and Arthur will walk away.

When he finally manages to pull himself away, Eames climbs into the bottle for the next 48 hours. After that he calls Saito and Johnny and everyone else he can get his hands on looking for information. Eames might not be as good at digging as Arthur, but he's been around the business for a damn long time and he's good at People.

 

Inside of a week Eames has a list of names.

Two weeks later Eames stops existing.

There is still a man breathing and moving around out for revenge, but all he is, is a shadow; a projection that will cease to exist as soon as the job is done. He starts at the bottom of the list, finds the first man and leaves only just enough of the man to be identified, eventually.

Then he focuses on the next and the next.

 

In between, while lying in wait all Eames does is lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. There isn't much else to do except avoid former friends who are trying to stop him and keep one step ahead of the people who start to hunt him after he scratches the third name off the list. 

 

Used to be, Arthur insisted on staying at least three steps ahead of everyone else just to be sure. Unfortunately Arthur is no more, so Eames doesn't have to obey his rules any longer.

 

A few days later he comes back to his hotel to find the cops all over it and two bodies being carried out shot through the head. There is a twinge in the place the once held Eames' hart at the placement of the bullets; one to the head and two to the chest. Arthur has always believed in making sure that anyone he wanted dead stayed dead. After he relocates to another hotel, Eames crawls into the bottle again for several days until the memory of the bullet hole groupings doesn't make him feel like crying at the moon any longer. 

 

After that, he goes out hunting again and strangles the fourth person on the list with his bare hands in a dirty bathroom in a back alley club and leaves the body with its head in the toilet bowl. It's a miracle no one as recognized him so far, hasn't connected the dots between Arthur and him. Not that it would do anyone any good exactly, but at least they would know the reason for dying. 

 

The fifth Eames leaves in pieces again just because he has the time to do it and because the man, Arthur had thought him a valuable colleague before getting sold out. 

 

While taking apart the sixth, Eames almost gets caught; he jumps off the fire escape just as someone kicks the door to the room he's been using in. He doesn't look back, just gets the hell out of town to lay low for a week or two getting reading for the grand finally.

 

Of course his luck runs out while he has his hands around the last bastard's throat ready to take his revenge on the man. Eames gets shot through the shoulder just the right way for him to drop and bleed messily. Eames manages to get to his knees needing to see who has managed to deprive him of his revenge; at first he can't believe his eyes when a slender figure steps out of the shadow. Eames blames blood loss for the hallucination of Arthur that kneels down next to him to pet his cheek before turning his attention to the man Eames was about to kill. He passes out just as the man starts screaming in agony and fear.

 

Eames wakes up with his shoulder in agony and not where he fainted. Instead he's in a windowless room all white paint and chrome furniture. He's naked except for the light sheet covering his dignity and a neat bandage covering the bullet hole. If he had been any sort of religious, Eames might have wondered if this is an extremely sterile version of heaven but Eames is a realist and already wondering what the point is of keeping him alive. While it is very American to heal people up before executing them, the more criminal element is usually more pragmatic. He isn't bound to the bed, but doesn't yet feel up to checking both the door barely visible in the wall.

 

Eames hopes that whoever shot him has made the guy he was about to kill suffer, from the little he remembers that seems very likely. He'd have preferred doing it himself, but then here are a lot of things Eames would have preferred generally speaking. 

 

 

He doesn't bother looking when he hears a soft swoosh of the automatic door opening and footsteps approaching the bed. No matter what happens, Eames is done anyway, he couldn't care less who the people holding him are and what the hell they want.

 

"I expected you to be happier to see me..." Eames doesn't turn at the sound of the familiar voice because that just isn't possible. A finger pokes him sharply in his ribs and Eames has to concede that there is actually someone in the room. Whoever it is might sound like Arthur, but the man can't possibly look like Arthur as well; there just aren't enough good photographs of Arthur around for a plastic surgeon not to mess up. Only when Eames turns his head the imitation is damn near perfect except for the pinched expression and the fact that the specter, or possible projection, looks even thinner than Arthur has always been and like he hasn't slept for a week.

 

"Eames..."

 

"You're dead darlin'" Eames can't help point out. He might admit that he doesn't quite have all of his marbles any longer, but Eames isn't so far gone as to forget that little fact.

 

"Hardly!" Arthur sits down on the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Eames' arm. The hand on him is warm, the finger pads a little rough with calluses just like the palm. Unfortunately in dreams everything is possible and Eames isn't the only good forger around...not that he's fooled even a little.

 

"I saw the footage!" It still plays behind his eyes every time Eames tries to sleep. "Have a whole DVD full of watching Arthur get shot and left behind in a dirty side street." At that, the projection sighs and pulls away slightly to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

 

"Of course you did. And having decided that I'm dead you went on a rampage didn't you? That's why there are strange people living in my apartment...?" Phantom-Arthur looks more aggravated by the knowledge that someone else is living in a space he has considers his for years, than at the knowledge that Eames has killed six people and hurt a dozen more severely just to get the information Eames needed to get revenge.

 

"I didn't figure I'd need it any more darlin'." Eames shrugs starting to fiddle with the sheet covering him to keep from trying to touch the phantom-Arthur. 

 

"Melodramatic bastard!" Phantom-Arthur curses and leans down until there is only a breath between their lips. Eames can't breathe with phantom-Arthur so close, close enough that Eames can smell him and feel the warmth coming off his body.

 

"You're getting sloppy in your old age Mr. Eames. And you forgot the Rules." Phantom-Arthur says before sticking his tongue down Eames' throat, he even tastes like Arthur. Eames relaxes into the kiss, or tongue fuck as the case may be, this might be the last time Eames will be able to experience something resembling Arthur so he gives into his desires and those of the phantom and lets him in. 

 

Only much later, when he's let up for air, do the words penetrate his tortured brain.

 

"Which one of the bleeding Rules?!" And Phantom-Arthur, or maybe just Arthur who by now is sprawled on the bed next to Eames laughs.

 

"The one about always putting an extra bullet in the corpse; just to be sure the target is dead if you can't dispose of the body properly." Arthur pulls off his tie and unbuttons his shirt so that Eames can study the rather fresh bullet scar right under Arthur's sternum.

 

"This isn't a dream is it?" Eames digs his fingers into the sheets; Arthur is alive and has only just now bothered to contact Eames again, Arthur is alive and despite the wound looks like he's been fine and dandy...

 

"I was in pretty bad shape for a couple of weeks, it wasn't safe to try and contact anybody Eames. And when I finally did manage it...you were already gone. I only found you a month ago or so." Eames suddenly remembers the two corpses at his hotel, the ones that send him into another drinking binge.

 

"You went looking for me..." He marvels.

 

"Of course I fucking went looking for you, you stupid fuck! What else was I supposed to do go on vacation? You're lucky Saito was one of the first people I called when I started looking for you or you'd be in the ground instead of laid up!" Having a screaming, pissed off Arthur straddling his waist feels like coming back to life. He raises a hand and pokes at Arthur's bare chest, just to make sure.

 

"Was going to avenge you or die trying darlin', didn't want anyone to get in the way. Saito's been a mate, didn't try to talk me out of it." 

 

"And I'm going to have a talk with him about that! You shouldn't have been wandering around..."

 

"I thought you were dead Arthur! What the bloody fuck did you expect me to do? Go on vacation?" Eames tries to sit up, push Arthur away but really can't bring himself to do that because Arthur is there and alive. 

 

"I expected you to have for faith, and to remember the Rules." 

 

"I hate those fucking Rules, I really do. Na matter what delusions you may hold pet people don't work that way." He doesn't add that most people aren't emotionless automatons because that would start another argument altogether. 

 

"Next time..." Arthur starts but Eames has to cut him off, because he knows what he's about to hear and already knows it's a lie.

 

"Don't! Don't make me promises you can't keep!"

 

"Next time just remember them!" Says Arthur then leans down to kiss Eames before he can start cursing again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off this goes on hiatus for two weeks.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On account of still being blocked on everything else...going forward ahead of schedule.
> 
> Squeak alert: blood play, biting, whipping and general feakiness.

_ My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through. _

 

Eames barrels around the corners and comes to a stop because there is an unexpected dead end at the end of the corridor. Only a grate halfway off the floor mocks his attempt to escape. Fortunately he's used to thinking on the fly; the grate comes off with the help of a knife and he's already hoisting himself into the ventilation duct when he sees it: the duct narrows further down to a diameter only suitable for rodents. With a curse Eames drops back down to the floor turning just in time to see Arthur rounding the corner the automatic rifle already aimed and ready to fire.

The smirk on Arthur's face is just beautiful; Eames wants to slam his fist into it.

 

"That's just not fair play!" He pouts raising his hands to insure that he doesn't get shot just for the hell of it. Arthur stops just far enough away that Eames can't attempt to get the rifle off of him without risking serious injury and frowns.

 

"Weren't you the one who said that this is war?" He drawls and Eames desperately wishes that he was the one controlling the dream. "I'm waiting for your unconditional surrender Mr. Eames." Eames takes a step back and leans against the wall next to the damn treacherous grate. The word 'unconditional surrender' purred in that supercilious tone scent arousal straight to his cock. Arthur's grin gets bigger because the little shit knows damn well what watching him be a merciless bastard does to Eames.

 

"Darlin' must we?" Eames pleads because even if no one else is there to witness this travesty the both of them will know and that is enough.

 

"I'm waiting Mr. Eames." If he didn't have to keep a bead on Eames, Eames imagines Arthur would have been petting the damn rifle like a cat and there is something wrong with that.

 

They lock gazes and Eames can feel himself give in one muscle at a time fighting the feeling all the way until with a sigh he kicks off the wall, raises his hands further to lock them behind his head and sinks to his knees. Arthur watches him sink down as Eames watches arousal grow behind Arthur's eyes.

He's naked without having to do a thing; the joy of playing in a dream, Arthur's eyes roaming his bare flesh with appreciation.

 

"Good enough?" He snarls trying to ignore that his cock is now twitching exposed in the cold air.

 

"It's a start." Arthur shrugs and lowers the rifle, "Come along, no need to get up." Gritting his teeth Eames lets himself drop to hands and knees. Already the space between his shoulder blades itches from the indignity of it before he's even started crawling. Eames promises himself that next time he's going to win and Arthur will regret everything he's about to do.

 

Thankfully they haven't got too far to go, Arthur turns a corridor and opens a door and there behind it is a fully furnished bedroom. He crawls in stopping in the middle of the room waiting for the next command. Arthur circles back and Eames feels fingers trailing down his spine, then the cold barrel of the rifle trails back up again.

 

"For a minute there it looked like you didn't even try..." The gun pokes lightly at the back of Eames' head then disappears.

 

"Luck of the draw innit?" Eames closes his eyes and lets his head hang. He hides a smirk when Arthur drops to his knees next to him.

 

"As you say," Arthur muses as both his hands start exploring Eames' skin, blunt nails sending shivers through his body.

"Spread." He feels slender fingers slip between his ass cheeks teasing at the muscle there.

Arthur is fond of using his nails, leaving barely there scratch marks on Eames' skin on the most sensitive parts of him. Easier in the dream where even the lightest touch will leave traces if the dreamer so desires, still there have been occasions on top that Eames looked like he's been savaged by some wild cat in the morning.

 

In the dream Arthur has fucking claws when he wants to, Eames can feel them teasing up and down the furrow between his ass cheeks lingering occasionally dangerously on Eames' hole like a threat. Arthur isn't above shoving his fingers in dry, claws and all to make Eames scream. Bound by the rules of the dream and their little competition Eames will have no choice but to take it; every last bit of pain that always makes an interesting prelude to pleasure. He rubs his forehead against the carpet trying to distract himself from the various scenarios playing through his head.

Scenarios which are as terrifying as they are arousing; full of claws, teeth and begging not all of it necessarily done by Eames. Two fingers pierce him; steady and merciless as he groans into the carpet. He's opened up bit by bit no matter how much he bears down or tries to get away. Arthur punishes him with bites sharp enough to make him bleed in the small of his back and the addition of another finger.

 

"Stay still!" Arthur's fingers withdraw leaving Eames empty and wanting, all touch on his body disappearing to his displeasure.

 

He's already considering looking up, questioning Arthur about his intentions, has his mouth open to complain but all that comes out of his throat is scream when the strap lands right on his hole. Eames doesn't turn to look, as much as he wants to there is little point in doing it; he knows what he'll see anyway, has seen it before from both sides.

 

One of the more memorable dream sessions still was watching the memory of Arthur working him over while having Arthur sit on his cock.

 

The strap returns several times in quick succession and Eames screams every time. He can feel the sensitive flesh grow hot, the muscle tighten defensively, tissue swell and throb as over-stimulated nerves make all of his hair stand on end.

He hates to remind himself that this is just the beginning.

The strap wanders off striping his cheeks but keeps returning to his hole vicious like a striking snake.

 

Eames struggles against the sensations, the demand to yield that's implied in every stroke letting his mouth hang open, letting all the noises that are jumbled up in his throat escape so he doesn't have to yield just that very second, so he can hold on just that bit longer.

Under his face the carpet grows wet with saliva, tears or sweat he doesn't even know which.

 

Until he can't hold off any longer, until he's sure that his ass will never be the same again despite ample evidence to the contrary, until all he can think about is having Arthur force his way inside of him.

 

Only Eames is pretty sure that he won't be getting that any time soon. Instead Arthur is on him again, pushing him over onto his side then onto his back until Eames is sprawled on the floor arms and legs akimbo waiting for the next torture to come his way. His cock stands straight up purple and dripping, his balls heavy and swollen already tight and presenting a tempting target. Arthur doesn't bother to resist the temptation, not that Eames would expect him to.

 

Arthur's long, slender fingers wrap around Eames' balls slowly squeezing down as Eames whimpers, moans and tries not to beg for either more or mercy.

He forces his body to go lax, submits himself to Arthur's will.

 

"Tell me to stop Eames. Tell me to stop and I will." Arthur whispers against Eames' hip, his hot breath tickling tortured flesh. It's on the tip of Eames' tongue to do exactly that because he feels like his balls are about to pop in Arthur's grip, his ass is in agony being ground against the carpet that's suddenly feels like sandpaper.

He already has his mouth open, only nothing comes out any words he can think off get stuck in this throat and only animal sounds seem to be able to escape. Eames feels Arthur smile against his skin then start to scatter little nips and bites on Eames' thighs forcing Eames to do all he can to keep still because his balls won't take being jerked at.

 

He claws at the carpet not really thinking, just getting tossed around by waves of various sensations and emotions. Arthur taking him down his throat in one go is a shock, from pain to pleasure in one move and for a moment Eames hopes that he's getting off lightly until he feels Arthur's teeth suddenly far sharper than they are supposed to be digging into the base of his cock. Arthur doesn't break skin, that's up to Eames if he can't control himself and tries to pull away. Arthur has the patience of a saint and the lunge capacity of a diver, never mind that they are in a fucking dream and Arthur doesn't have to breath at all if he so chooses, so all he does is hold Eames in his mouth; a hint of teeth in Eames' flesh and Arthur's hot breath teasing across the rest of it. 

 

"Arthur..." He manages to force out, the name sticks in his mouth, he can't say anything else suddenly only prey to his personal merciless god. When the teeth holding him finally start to move, Eames sobs with relief or at least the illusion of it, they don't move away just scrape across the length of him until they catch just below the head of his cock. Eames can't help look down, see Arthur's mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, meet Arthur's eyes and see the hunger there. He doesn't expect Arthur to break skin, but then he rarely expects anything that happens during their little games, doesn't expect to watch as Arthur drags sharp teeth across his cock-head leaving behind trails that start filling with blood right away then pulls off with a soft pop. The pain doesn't hit right away, it's like Eames' brain can't believe the sensations the nerves are sending its way, when it finally happens all Eames can do is scream.

 

His whole world narrows down to the hot strips on his cock-head dripping blood down his shaft making his cock look like a damn candy-cane. Arthur laps at the blood happy like a kid with an ice-lolly and Eames really wants to shoot him, instead he slams his head against the floor to keep himself from moving and doing more damage than he'll be able to handle.

Arthur's tongue digs into one of the wounds he has created digging into it with the tip until a fresh stream of blood is his reward that he delicately laps up before nuzzling against Eames' cock like a cat marking its territory. The lower half of Arthur's face is smeared with Eames' blood when Eames looks again.

He shouldn't find it as hot as he does.

 

Especially considering Arthur can very well decide to bite it off later on. And even that has it's own appeal; the knowledge that he endured that. Arthur squeezes his balls again and Eames is snapped back into his hurting body. Arthur's hand finally lets go of his balls and it's a release all in itself. He can finally relax his muscles without fear; Arthur is still between his legs looking down at him carnivore teeth bared in a twisted grin and hands on his lap. 

 

The grin makes the fear come back; it gives Eames enough of an adrenaline shot that he can scramble away awkwardly roll on to his knees and crawl away. Behind him, Eames can hear Arthur start to laugh a joyful laugh that comes from deep in his chest and when Eames looks back Arthur is on his feet already stalking him. A tiny rational part of Eames knows that if he gets up, he'll be able to move faster get the hell away from Arthur and maybe find something to get himself the hell out of the dream. Instead he stays on his knees crawling as fast as he can towards the door that seems to move farther and farther away as Arthur comes closer.

 

In the end, only a trail of blood shows that Eames has even moved. Arthur grabs him by the neck, shoves him face down into the carpet. He doesn't expect Arthur's tongue in his ass, the hot, slick wetness of it soothing the burn and add to it at the same time. Eames doesn't even have the strength to moan any longer; he can only lie there and suck in large gulps of air. Arthur's cock forcing its way inside of him is almost a relief brutal snap of Arthur's hips as he drives in over and over again putting pressure on the bruises and welts that make up Eames' ass for the moment. Arthur's hand closes around Eames' tortured cock far rougher than it should be feeling like the skin is getting stripped off of Eames' cock with every pull. Arthur's teeth sink into Eames' back right between the shoulder blades where in real life a bite would drive him crazy itching and pulling where he can't reach. All of it has him hovering on the edge just waiting for Arthur to find his satisfaction, for the one little push that the next hurt will bring. He doesn't get there; Arthur the vicious bastard has a blade in his hand all of a sudden a straight razor slender and deadly as Arthur himself. It opens up Eames' throat just as he feels Arthur coming inside of him, for a moment he struggles to breathe or speak and then all is black. 

 

It always takes Eames a while to get his head screwed on right, unlike Arthur who is ready to go as soon as he opens his eyes. By the time he's coherent enough to move, Arthur is already between his legs swallowing Eames' cock down. Considering what just happened in the dream Eames should be pulling him off and possibly punching his lights out instead Eames digs his hand into Arthur's hair and pulls him closer, pushes his cock deeper into Arthur's throat cutting off his air. He feels Arthur choke and holds on tighter, thrusts into Arthur's throat uncaring if he's going to leave bruises. Arthur's hands find their way to Eames' thighs digging into his flesh but not trying to stop him in fact they almost seem to encourage him. Eames comes feeling Arthur's throat spasming around his cock, then kicks Arthur away as hard as he can leaving him a boneless mass on the floor.

 

"Sometimes Arthur darlin' I really hate your bloody guts." With a growl Eames puts his cock away after a quick check that everything is still in place and nothing has been scarred. Then he finds his back and goes out for a smoke. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if I forgot something in the tags


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blasphemy alert if you're easily offended SKIP IT!  
> No clergy were harmed.

Watching Arthur strip down to the halo jauntily cocked on his head Eames morns the lack of anything to do but collect signatures at the end of the night. For a human Arthur has an unnerving capacity to inspire sin. And Eames might be a demon but that's mostly habit by now and not conviction.

 

Arthur does a turn around the pole and Eames has to check if his horns and tail aren't showing, arousal making it difficult to hold the disguise. Especially while imagining taking Arthur, shedding the disguise and sticking his real tongue up Arthur's tight little ass to lick at his prostate until Arthur screams. It's always been one of his favorite things to do, along with watching men squirm while their cock are trapped between his needle sharp teeth as they try not to thrust into Eames' mouth as he teases the cock-head with the highly flexible muscle.

 

Eames has had time to perfect his oral fixation into an art. Thousands of years on earth have insured that. On the stage Arthur twists again and Eames can feel his gaze all of a sudden too hot and interested, he has a policy to leave his dancers alone since they are the tools of his current trade, but Arthur...Arthur is almost too much temptation to resist even for a former celestial being. All of a sudden Eames finds himself in an uncomfortable position of sympathizing with the boss and he doesn't like it.

 

While Eames is lost in thought Arthur finishes up his set and slinks off the stage the modesty he's never had protected only by a minuscule sequence encrusted thong. He saunters past Eames on the way out and just as he's about to enter the backstage door throws Eames a sharp little smile over his bony shoulder. Eames suddenly remembers what falling feels like: hot as hell, and unsatisfying.

 

So of course he succumbs not a long time after. Of course Eames being Eames he does believe in half measures. Arthur presents himself in one of the VIP rooms Eames has taken possession of for the evening in full Catholic priest costume and Eames can feel the little golden crucifix around Arthur's neck even through the thick fabric of the cassock. When the door closes behind him, Arthur raises a brow.

 

"Seriously?" And all Eames can do is shrug, and make himself not blush because he's the boss and a demon and a pathetic human isn't going to get the best of him. He snaps his fingers and is a badly suppressed sigh steps further into the room until he's standing maybe a couple of feet in front of Eames. He doesn't do anything but stand, still the cassock can't hide that when he comes to a standstill Arthur is cocking one razor sharp hip.

 

Eames is stuck sitting there, looking up for an eternity of moment before the itching under his skin becomes too much and he reaches out, grabs Arthur and pulls him into his lap. Under his hands there is no Arthur, there is only the heavy wool of the cassock as Eames explores the planes and angles of Arthur's body through the clothe. His claws get caught on the wool ripping it in places until Arthur's pale skin peeks through.

 

"Oh god!" Arthur moans catching Eames' hand to bring it to his mouth. Arthur wraps his narrow lips around two of Eames' fingers claws and all to lick at the pads of his fingers. That's when Eames loses control completely and has to shift in his seat to give his tail a little bit of room. In his lap Arthur slides forward until his ass is right over Eames' cock. The skirt of the cassock is getting bunched up between them and Eames is caught between the conflicting urges of wanting to rip it away completely and wanting to delay gratification just a little bit longer. He strokes Arthur's leg through the wool feeling every wiry muscle that's tensed, possibly with anticipation.

 

Eames pulls his fingers out of Arthur's mouth, grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him down far enough that he can take Arthur's mouth, fill it with his tongue.

Tasting Arthur; having him whimper for breath when Eames takes it away almost has Eames tearing through his trousers.

 

The heavy wool of Arthur’s cassock is in shreds before either of them knows it.

Arthur is left only in sleeves, shoulders and the priest collar the rest of him bare for Eames' enjoyment. Not that Eames is better off, somehow Arthur has managed to destroy his shirt and they are shockingly skin to skin rubbing against one another as if they are teenagers. Eames doesn't even remember getting out of the chair and laying Arthur out on the floor to lash the wiry body with his tongue until he comes to the dark pink cock that contrasts pleasingly with the rest of Arthur. Eames nuzzles at the plump equally pink balls licking at them until they drip and try to get away from him crawling up to nestle right under Arthur's cock.

 

When he looks up, Arthur's mouth hangs open in a silent scream like he's caught between agony and ecstasy, confused which is which. Eames grabs the skinny thighs that are already spread wide for him, forces them wider until Arthur's back is bend like a bow and Eames can bury his face in the tight ass that's been mocking him from the stage for what seems like ages.

 

He breathes his hotter than human breath across Arthur's skin and takes pleasure in the broken moan. Then dives in driving his tongue deep into Arthur's ass without warning or preparation, pries him open with his tongue. He lets his tongue become pointier and slightly rougher as Eames finds the one spot inside of Arthur that will make the human howl. He tightens his hold on the hard thighs that are already trying to close around his head not sure if Arthur just doesn't want to take the chance that Eames will pull away or is trying to strangle Eames into backing off.

 

The question is answered when Arthur manages to curl up, practically floating up off the floor, and grabs for Eames' head and to be more specific for Eames' horns. Slender, strong hands wrap around the base of both horns, rub where they rise from Eames' skull rubbing there and making Eames see stars.

By now Arthur should be screaming and trying to get away, not using Eames' horns like handles. While he's pleased not to have to pin the human down, he wants a bit of fear; the spice of it to lick off Arthur's skin. Letting his clothing melt away Eames rises up covering Arthur with his body, hovering over him to let the human look his fill.

 

Without the disguise Eames' stocky body doesn't change much; he's a little bigger, a little broader all over and a bit scalier. Iridescent copper scales decorating his ribs and spine melding into the slender, flexible length of Eames' tail, the tip of which Eames is poking at Arthur's ass playing with the idea of...

 

"Yessss, knew it!" The triumph in Arthur's voice, the sheer satisfaction sends Eames' cock twitching. In revenge Eames shoves his tail as far up Eames' ass as he can, finds the little spot he's been tormenting with his tongue and presses against it.

Eames swallows the happy moans before they can leave Arthur's lips.

Arthur lets go of his horns and lets his hands wander down Eames' body instead rubbing across the delicate emerald green scales on Eames' shoulders and Eames wonders if he'll be just as happy with finding the same green scales on Eames' inner thighs and the base of his cock.

 

Arthur whimpers in pain, actual pain by the taste of it and Eames looks down remembering the little golden crucifix that he had requested Arthur wear for him. There is barely anything left of the little cross; a puddle of gold bubbling in the middle of Arthur's chest running down towards Arthur's collar bones and under the priest collar onto his throat in rivulets that must do more than sting the skin along them already turning an angry red. Eames' proximity having overwhelmed the power of the blessing bestowed on the precious metal. 

 

"Ssssssh pet, don't worry I'm going to make you feel like you're flying in a bit." Eames coos drinking in Arthur's pain like particularly nice champagne. Arthur's hands claw at Eames' skin and scales and if Eames had been human he'd surely have bloody scratches all across his back and sides. 

 

"I'm going to have scars..." Arthur probably would if Eames hadn't been opposed to damaging art in that way. Not that he will let Arthur know, he'll spot it soon enough once Eames is done with him, for now the distress only adds another layer to Arthur's flavor. 

 

"You're going to take my cock luv, you're going to whimper and beg me to stop and still take all of it." Eames lowers his hips and thrusts his cock against Arthur's hipbone; finally lets Arthur really feel all of him.

 

In his proper shape Eames might not be particularly longer than an average human, but he swells further; thick enough to give most people pause. Not Arthur, the little slut wraps his legs around Eames' hips.

 

"Proper little angel aren't you?" Eames licks at Arthur's throat and down his chest to sink his teeth into Arthur's chest leaving the imprint of his teeth around a peaked nipple. He licks at unmolested nipple considering the way he wants Arthur. Eames wants to watch him fall apart on his cock and as much as he'd love to put Arthur on his knees...Eames wants to enjoy this.

He nuzzles under the priest collar to suck a mark onto Arthur's throat, then rolls onto his back dragging Arthur along. Arthur's hand wraps around Eames' cock as soon as he's upright already biting his lip with uncertainty.

 

"Your resume did say you have a special talent for pole dancing pet." Eames can't resist pointing out while wiggling his tail a little harder in Arthur's ass. The glare that he gets in answer could melt rock in it's intensity much to Eames' pleasure. He slowly starts to pull his tail out of the tight little hole he'd happily stay in for quite a while longer, makes sure to tease and push to stretch Arthur just a little bit extra. When Eames' tail leaves Arthur with a squishy sort of pop Arthur raises himself up, grabs Eames' cock and guides the bulbous head towards his opening.

 

Despite getting stretched by Eames' tongue and tail Arthur is far too tight.

Eames spreads his legs to make room for his tail and wraps the appendage around Arthur's waist to insure that he won't be going anywhere but down no matter what happens. Eames watches the strain ripple across Arthur's face, watches muscles start to tremble as Arthur fights to take Eames inside of him. It seems to take ages with stopping and going, Arthur's hole squeezing the head of Eames' cock like a vice before letting another inch through. When the widest part of the cock-head passes, Arthur takes several inches at once unexpectedly gravity pulling him down until his ass protests again.

Eames growls and claws at the floor shredding the carpet instead of Arthur because he needs to dig his claws into something to keep control otherwise Arthur will soon be a bloody mess. 

 

Arthur is snug and slick around him, tight enough to be pleasantly uncomfortable.

His body is slicking up with sweat, his lovely pink cock keeps dripping onto Eames' abdomen despite Arthur's whimpers of discomfort.

 

"So pretty pet! Slick and tight for me, struggling to take it all, and you are going to take all of me angel." He grabs Arthur's thighs and gives him a sharp jerk shoving another inch or two of himself into Arthur's spasming body. Eames can barely control himself at the sight of the tears that spring from Arthur's eyes and leak along his too sharp cheekbones.

 

"There you go luv." He drawls rubbing at the bruises he's just left on Arthur's flesh. "Almost there, just a little bit more, you're going to remember me for the rest of your days darlin' no one else will fill you up as well." He grabs Arthur by the priest collar and forces him down to taste his mouth again, to lick the tears off Arthur's cheeks. 

 

Then just as Arthur starts to relax again, Eames shoves in some more and gets repaid by Arthur's nails digging into his skin at the very edge where it becomes scales. The twinge of pain, shouldn't feel so good. Arthur can't do any real damage but it feels like he can read Eames' mind the way he pushes and prods at the delicate border between skin and the scales. Eames allows this, as long as Arthur is still working on taking him completely; amazingly the slender human has already taken far more than a lot of people Eames has known over the centuries without breaking down. Eames could swear that he can already see the bulge the head of his cock makes on Arthur's conclave abdomen, it's probably his imagination but Eames doesn't really care.

 

Arthur leans down, offers his mouth for plundering again and licks at Eames' teeth seemingly oblivious to the danger they present despite already having felt them. Absorbed as they are in tasting each other, Arthur taking the last inch of him comes as quite a shock. He has to reach between Arthur's legs to trace the straining muscle squeezing the base of his cock just to be sure it's actually happened. Arthur mumbles something and Eames feels the sting of it.

 

"Now now, pet; no reason to take that name in your mouth on this occasion." He warns because once or twice just adds to the whole thing but more can get uncomfortable. 

 

"It hurts you doesn't it?" Arthur purrs and says it again making Eames buckle under him shoving himself further into the tight hole. Just to get his point across Eames lifts Arthur up a bit and lets him drop despite Arthur still being as tight as a new elastic band. 

 

"Not as much as I'll hurt you." He growls when Arthur is done howling and twitching. "Now darlin' you know what to do." And amazingly Arthur does; he gets his knees under him, regains his balance and starts to move. Slowly at first just wiggling in Eames' lap, more a tease than proper stimulation as far as Eames is concerned, but slowly starting to rock and grind down as his body accepts the demands placed on it Arthur moved over Eames.

 

He watches avidly as hazy brown eyes fight to stay open and watch Eames right back. Eames loosens the grip of his tail on Arthur's waist and slides the appendage up to tease at the pretty pink nipples that are usually covered by glitter when Arthur's on stage. Eames wants to leave his mark on those pretty pink nubs, the cold that's solidified on Arthur's skin gives Eames one two many ideas. He can already imagine delicate gold rings keeping those nipples tight all the time, little nubs poking through no matter what Arthur is wearing. He reaches up, pinching and twisting viciously to see them a darker shade of pink. He rubs his tail across Arthur's spine, while forcing the gold into liquid form again; gathering it up in the palm of his hand.

 

Conveniently Arthur's eyes have fallen shut, so he doesn't see the puddle of gold split in two and form slender glittering needles sharp as steel under Eames' will. He takes a needle in each hand waits a moment to see if Arthur will get curious and when he doesn't, aims and sinks the golden needles into the tight dark pink flesh spearing both nipples at the same time.

 

Arthur screams and goes tight with shock for a moment worrying Eames that he'll lose his cock to the tight little ass. Arthur's eyes fly open black with all the sensation coursing through his body, his mouth twists into a savage grimace teeth bared as if he's going to attack at any moment. The sight is almost enough to make Eames come, he barely hangs on, waits until Arthur calms down, until there are more tasty tears dripping down Arthur's cheeks he can wipe up and taste. He turns the needles into pretty hoops without beginning or end marks of ownership that Arthur will have a hell of a time getting rid off. Eames doesn't bother to heal the abused flesh, Arthur can take the discomfort, if he isn't already actively enjoying the throbbing pain radiating through his chest.

 

"Bastard!" Arthur hisses at him when he finally catches his breath and Eames snaps his hips up again to rob his of his breath again.

 

"Demon pet." He reminds Arthur sliding his tail forward again to wrap it around Arthur's cock to squeeze the slippery flesh. Arthur manages to lift up until just the head of Eames' cock remains inside of his body spends an agonizing long time just massaging the fat head with his inner muscles teasing them both.

 

Then when Eames is least expecting it, Arthur lets himself drop again; he starts a savage rhythm fucking himself on the thick flesh. Eames can taste Arthur's need to come and a part of him wants to be contrary, wants to keep Arthur on edge for as long as he can possibly until Arthur faints from the need, only for once he's feeling something that might possibly be described as merciful. He wiggles his tail, finds the slit of Arthur's cock with the tip of it and plugs it up stretching it as his cock has stretched Arthur's ass. All Arthur can do is whimper, but instead of fighting the new invasion all he does is hang his head and accept Eames' efforts to take him apart.

 

"That's it luv, you're lovely, taste so good you're going to make me come pet, going to make me fill your tight little ass full until you feel like you'll never be able to get me out of you." He purrs reaching up tug and flick at the gold rings making Arthur squeeze down on him again. 

 

"Come on darlin' show me how much you want me to fill you up!" Eames sits up a little, uses the full length of his tongue to lick the sweat off Arthur's throat. 

 

"Now sweetheart!" Eames pulls out until only the tip of the head of his cock is inside Arthur's hole while pulling his tail out of Arthur's cock, and that's all it takes Arthur is a screaming, spasming demon in Eames' lap. The taste of Arthur's ecstasy is what sends Eames over the edge after the human. He feels like the he's coming for ages, slides his cock out of Arthur's ass a little to make room for more of himself inside of the human. Arthur protests and tries to struggle but his body is spent and all he can do is moan and take it. Carefully Eames rolls them over, wraps Arthur's legs around his waist to keep Arthur's ass up so nothing leaks out. Meanwhile he gathers Arthur's come from both their abdomens until his claws are coated with it then offers them to Arthur who starts licking without protest.

 

"You're going to be the death of me pet." Eames sighs, "And I find that I don't even bloody care." He feels Arthur smile around the claw in his mouth. 


	15. Chapter 15

_ The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request. _

"Sure you don't want anything?" Eames frowns at the prisoner through the bars, because he can't really believe that someone who is about to lose his life doesn't have a last request.

"Steak and whiskey? A last cigarette?...A last kiss?" He can't resist adding that last one just to see if he can get any sort of reaction out of the slender, dour faced man who has barely moved around the cell and hasn't said a word since he's gotten himself tossed into Eames' part of the lockup.

"We can get a pretty girl in, be all nice like I'm sure I can find one or two who won't mind..." Eames warms up to the idea, he's never quite managed to get the romantic streak he developed during puberty out of his system much to the chagrin of several of his significant others. And if he was the one waiting to get shot...well it wouldn't be a pretty girl Eames would be requesting but a nice strapping lad to cuddle up to during his last night on earth.

"Unless you are willing to give me the key, don't bother please." Eames almost jumps out of his skin at finally getting an answer. He's half convinced himself the man he's guarding is a mute.

"Eh, sorry mate, that's a bit frowned upon in my line of work I'm afraid. Getting paid to make sure people don't get out and all..." He takes an involuntary step back when the prisoner rises and stalks the two steps needed to lean against the cell bars.

"Really? I could make it worth your while...?" The prisoner says with a razor sharp smile and Eames' brain starts playing a film of all the possible ways the prisoner could do that. All of them ending badly for Eames; he's seen too many films to even think that this kind of thing might end well. Dungeon and prison guards never end well when giving into their prisoner's advances.

"Better not luv, kind of attached to my head being where it is." He takes another step back just in case even though all the prisoner does is lean against the bars and...wiggle.

"Very level headed of you I suppose." The prisoner purrs, then opens his mouth and licks one of the bars practically wrapping his tongue around the metal.

Eames whimpers, his brain short circuits and he feels like most of his blood has suddenly migrated into his cock.

"That's not playing fair luv, I'm just doing my job." He pleads while digging through his pockets just to make sure his keys are still where they are supposed to be.

"And I'm doing mine Mr. Eames." The prisoner threads his arms through the bars, leans his full length against them then starts to slowly pull his tie loose baring a very interesting hollow just above the collar bones Eames would love to get his mouth on under different circumstances.

"Sorry luv, can't oblige." Eames sneaks another look at the lovely hollow, then turns to go back to his desk since his job is done. Behind his back, the prisoner moans and Eames just knows from the sounds of clothe against metal that the prisoner is rubbing himself against the bars.

Maybe, he considers, the question about sexual orientation on the application form did have an actual good reason; Eames could have been guarding women and not having this problem. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not spellchecked at all  
> in fact written in the chapter text field

  
My Legions of Terror will have helmets  with clear Plexiglas visors, not face-concealing ones.   


  


When he had first mandated the clear face plates it was cold logic; if you can see the face of the person under the armor you can check if the person in the suit is actually the person that's supposed to be in the suit.

Arthur likes being certain of things that way.

His guards are what keeps him alive and Arthur knows all the faces that are supposed to be there and learns the new ones as soon as he can. 

It's one of the new guards who throws a spanner in the works. 

When the new guards are rotated in, Arthur makes an effort to memorize the new faces.

He studies them for quirks that he can remember that are difficult to imitate if someone gets the hair brained idea to substitute one of them by a look alike. 

While memorizing Arthur comes to the conclusion that one of his guards has one of the most unusual faces Arthur has ever seen.

The sergeant, by the look of his markings, seems to have a face that's been made up from spare parts; it doesn't quite fit together while at the same time drawing the eye. 

Arthur catches himself staring at it while he's supposed to be working more than once trying to figure out what it is about it that makes it attractive despite being one giant flaw.

It's distracting, so Arthur makes sure that the sergeant ends up standing behind him, only to get irritated when he can't look at the man while thinking. 

When he ordered the man to take up a post at his door again, Arthur can see his mouth twitch.

He can barely resist putting the man up for punishment measures.

The next morning Arthur wakes up from a dream of spending all the guards but the sergeant out, and having the big man fuck him over his desk.

The dream doesn't do a lot for Arthur's mood, the smirk that seems to have taken up permanent residence on the sergeant's face doesn't help either.

At lunch after he's caught up on his work a bit, Arthur sends all the guards but the sergeant out of the door.

After locking the door behind them, he turns to the bigger man flipping the Plexiglas up getting rid of the barrier between them.

"What's your name?" He asks because it seems only polite to know at least something about the man.

"Eames, sir." Eames tells him the words practically a purr of satisfaction. Arthur nods filing the name away with the face and reaches out to lay his hands on the broad chest. He doesn't feel much under the uniform with the body armor between him and Eames' flesh, but it is a clear indication of what he wants.

"Any objections sergeant?" He asks feeling his way down Eames' torso towards Eames' crotch to cup the bulge he finds there. To his satisfaction, a shiver runs down Eames' body and the big man steps into Arthur's personal space.

"I get to bugger ye then?" Eames asks and Arthur's ass is suddenly cupped by his hands, thick fingers digging into his flesh.

"Yes." Arthur hisses starting to work on the fastenings of Eames' helmet pulling it off Eames' head and letting it fall on the floor with a clatter.

"Ace" Eames purrs, and Arthur finds that his feet are no longer touching the floor.

As if reading his mind, Eames carries him over to the desk setting Arthur on it with a satisfied grin.

He starts on the buttons of Eames' uniform jacket as Eames starts sorting out Arthur's belt and trouser fastenings.

Arthur wants to see Eames naked, wants to be able to touch all the muscles the clothing is hiding as he gets fucked. As he works on them, Arthur makes a mental note to ask questions about the fastenings of the armor worn under the uniforms by guards; when taking the armor off in an emergency situation it seems like the fastenings present a problem. He finally manages to get rid of it with Eames' help and is rewarded with the sight of a a chiseled chest that makes him growl in need.

"Take your trousers off now! There are supplies in the left pocket of my bag." He orders Eames while arching his hips to get his trousers down and out of the way. Eames chuckles but does as he's commanded giving Arthur a lovely view of a meaty ass when he bends over to get the slick. Back between Arthur's thighs Eames is warm out of his clothing, and inviting to the touch. Arthur traces hard muscle and scratches his fingers through the light fur in the middle of the broad chest.

"Like getting it up the arse from a real man?" Eames taunts pushing Arthur until he's on his back, his legs spread wide to expose him for preparation.

Even covered with slick Eames' fingers are uncomfortably thick when they breech him starting on stretching him almost at once.

Arthur bites his lip unwilling to show any discomfort to a mere subordinate, only it seems that Eames can read Arthur's mind because he pushes another finger in spreading them wide fucking Arthur roughly with them until he's arching off the table and a whimper finally escapes him.

"Like it rough don't ya?" Eames pulling his fingers out and wiping the excess slick off on his own abdomen, "Should have known." He growls grabbing Arthur's thigh pushing it aside until he can guide his cock until the head of it pops past the still slightly too tight ring of Arthur's anus. Arthur's other thigh is grabbed as well and without warning Eames slams into his to the hilt practically bending him in half as he does.

Holding in sounds becomes difficult after that.

Eames manages to keep Arthur's knees pinned to his chest while pulling out until the head of his cock is the only part of him inside of Arthur then slamming back in. Arthur, as much as he can think under such an assault, is sure that he won't be sitting comfortably for several days. He wraps his arms around Eames' neck, claws at Eames' shoulders every time Eames thrusts in and tries to grab at Eames' hair so he'll be able to pull Eames down and taste his mouth.

It doesn't quite work, not with the fucking he's getting and pretty soon Arthur gives up on the idea and relaxes into the bruising grip to enjoy the punishing rhythm that's driving him fast towards completion. Eames pants above him sweat forming on his chest and brow from the exertion making the muscles even more appealing.

Paperwork clatters to the floor around them and Arthur dimly realizes he'll have a hell of a time setting everything to right, but Eames shortens his thrusts, starts to grind his cock into Arthur's ass while resting most of his body weight on Arthur's body.

Arthur's suit will probably not be salvaged, pre-come and remains of slick smear over the shirt and inner lining and Eames makes an effort to rub his face against Arthur's chest to get the sweat out of his eyes. He grins up at Arthur suddenly close enough for Arthur to raise his head and catch the full lips with his own, to sink his teeth into the plumb bottom lip after he's memorized the taste of Eames.

Arthur doesn't bite quite hard enough to draw blood but he does make Eames growl, buckle between his legs and speed up.

He doesn't pull away though and that tells Arthur enough.

Arthur's cock is trapped between hot slick skin, and rough soggy cotton felling like it's going to explode if it doesn't get some extra stimulation soon. He tries to worm his hand between their bodies only to have it batted away by Eames.

"Ye're going to come just from getting buggered sir." Eames pants against Arthur's mouth grinding into him again and putting more of his weight on Arthur until it feels like he's getting smothered for real. Arthur finds himself moaning, as much as the lack of air allows him to anyway, and tightening the muscles of his ass every time Eames thrusts in.

He digs his nails in between Eames' shoulder blades to spur him on, he wants to curse at Eames to make him come already but the lack of air makes it difficult. 

Eames twists his hips in a way Arthur hasn't experienced before, the move sends spars through Arthur's whole body and he comes spasming around Eames and clawing his back open. Eames fucks Arthur through his orgasm with steady punishing thrusts that make it seem to last forever. Only when Arthur goes soft and pliant under him does Eames straighten up, grab Arthur by the hips and starts pounding into him like there is no tomorrow.

Arthur doesn't get the chance to protest before he's clawing at the table trying to get some grip to brace himself against the pounding he's getting.

Eames comes slumping onto Arthur's chest for a long moment to pant wetly against Arthur's throat, then lifts off of Arthur with a groan and whimper when his cock pops out of Arthur's ass.

"That what ye wanted sir?" He asks while picking up his clothing.

Arthur isn't sure, he stands up inspecting his fully trashed suit and pulling off his tie, as satisfied as his body is for the moment he knows that as long as Eames is around he'll want more.

It's a weakness Arthur really shouldn't have, this hunger for a lowly guard he knows nothing about.

"I want the name of your commanding officer sergeant. You are getting assigned to my personal guard." 


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur watches Eames work.

The forger doesn't allow a lot of people to see him actually concentrating on his craft. 

Early on in their 'relationship' Eames used to disappear for days, sometimes weeks and it took Arthur a while to realize that it wasn't because Eames got fed up with him; it was because he needed to work.

Eames sits hunched over a large worktable, glasses perched on the tip of his nose squinting at a couple of pieces of paper. Arthur knows that Eames hates admitting that he has to work hard to keep his skills in top condition. 

Now that he's trusted with the sight, Arthur does everything possible to keep this trust intact. When Eames is working and Arthur happens to be around, he makes sure to sit quietly in a corner with his own work or a half decent book to hide behind when Eames catches him watching.

Because there is always something to watch when Eames works; the way Eames' glasses never seem to be able to stay on properly always sliding off to the tip of his nose. The mad scientist magnifying lens on a headband Eames insists he really, absolutely needs when working. His bare feet rubbing across the carpet and against the spokes of the chair as he thinks and the way Eames is always fiddling with a pen, pencil or anything he can get his hands on while thinking. 

Arthur can watch him the whole day trying to figure out what is going on in the man's head. Eames, when he catches Arthur watching, grumbles and sneers but doesn't try chasing Arthur off and that's already a victory.

When Eames is doing research the table gets covered in ashtrays and other containers that fill up with cigarette butts. Instead of making an Excel file or at least digital notes, like any sane person would in Arthur's opinion, Eames makes notes on anything and everything he can write on that's in arm's reach. 

Eventually these notes crystallize into flashes of brilliance, in ideas and break-ins that stump the police. Eames claims to be mostly retired from everything except Dreamsharing, and that he only does as a favor for Arthur. Usually Arthur forgets that Eames has a decade on him, most of the time Arthur feels like he's the only adult in the relationship but then Eames manages to turn around, sigh, make a comment and Arthur remembers again.

It annoys Arthur that clients tend to dismiss Eames as dumb muscle despite knowing that he's the forger and extractor of the team. It also annoys Arthur that Eames lets it happen shrugging and smiling when Arthur points it out. The clients make the same mistake Arthur has made for years, it might just be transferred guilt on Arthur's part but he wants everyone to see Eames as he sees him no matter what Eames has to say on the subject.

His book is ripped out of Arthur's hands, Eames falls onto the couch making Arthur jump and yell in protest when he gets scooped up and ends up in Eames' lap.

"You're thinking too loud pet, can't concentrate with all that racket around." Says Eames his big hand wrapping around the back of Arthur's neck to pull him in for a kiss. "You just want to fuck because you're stuck." Arthur accuses as soon as he gets his mouth back, because he can already feel Eames' half hard cock against his ass.

"And aren't you happy that you're a vital part of my creative process?" Gets mouthed against Arthur's throat as Eames' hands make their way into Arthur's trousers to cup his ass. "In fact we really should look into making you part of my work station." Arthur doesn't get the chance to protest the demented statement; his sweatshirt gets pulled half over his head and Eames' lips close around one of Arthur's nipples sucking sharply until the flesh is swollen and tight.

"Eames..." Arthur protest when the other man deliberately gets in the way of him escaping the sweatshirt half swaddled around his head.

"Leave it..." Eames orders manhandling Arthur until he is laid out on the couch with Eames' bulk pushing his thighs apart,"would love to tie you down to my desk pet, all spread out in easy reach for me to play with when I get stuck." Arthur feels him clawing at his trousers wiggling around and pulling until Arthur is bare from ankles to shoulders. At the same time Eames has manages to get his own clothing off as well and Arthur stops trying to get out of the confines of the sweatshirt to enjoy the weight of Eames on top of him.

Eames' mouth on his throat makes Arthur shiver, moan and try to hook his leg around Eames' middle. The couch is too narrow for either of them to get really comfortable but they've screwed in worse places. 

"Eames, Eames..." Arthur doesn't beg, never has, never will, but saying his lover's name over and over again isn't begging. Eames doesn't agree but doesn't bother to point it out either. Instead he produces slick from somewhere and works his fingers inside of Arthur opening him up. Not that it's too difficult, Arthur had been woken up by a tongue in his ass licking him open for a morning fuck. He's still sort of loose from that and Eames sliding into him is more like a missing part returning than an invasion. 

Eames must not be that stuck since Arthur is getting fucked slow and gentle, the sweatshirt pulled off his head once Eames is inside of him so Eames can kiss him again. 

It feels like they have all the time in the world, slow and easy full of kisses and constant touching. 

Coming is almost secondary to the rare closeness Arthur feels from the coupling.

Arthur ends up sprawled on top of Eames fighting the urge to fall asleep to the sound of Eames' heartbeat.

He's almost convinced himself that a nap won't do any harm when he gets dumped off Eames' body. A blanket, Eames' favorite, lands on top of him before he can start to growl in protest.

"Have to work pet. Deadlines and all, I'll wake you up in a couple of hours shall I?" Eames tells him leaning down for a biting kiss that leaves Arthur wanting more. 

Before Arthur can formulate a response Eames is already pulling up his pants and wandering off back to his desk. With a sigh Arthur tries to make himself comfortable on the narrow couch, he finally ends up on his side cuddling the blanket that smells of Eames watching the man as he bends over his work again. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter 8 has been added as well, next in Dictator Eames.

The headache that wakes him is of epic proportions, it reminds him of his student days when he'd thought that drinking was the antidote to social awkwardness. He's pretty sure that he isn't in college any longer and almost sure that he isn't in a country where he'd risk getting drunk on his own. Something is pinching is wrists but Arthur can't find the energy to open his eyes just yet so instead he attempts bringing his hands together to feel what the hell has gotten tangled around his wrists, and fails.

He sits up with a jerk opening his eyes to see blackened metal wrapped around his wrists in the dim light of where ever he is. The manacles have thick chains that once Arthur twists around to see turn out to be attacked to rings embedded in what looks to be a rock wall.

The worst thing is, the last thing Arthur can remember when he focuses is going to map a bit of the ruins they've found on a Friday morning. He has no idea how much time has passed or where he is, and no one will miss him till at least Monday.

His body, now that he's painfully wide awake, feels bruised and battered and his muscles feel strained. The air around him is somewhat stale and there is a faint tang of manure, when he strains his hearing Arthur can feel water running somewhere not too far off. He's sprawled on a bunch of dry grass and possibly remains of a throw or rug and finally there is a bowl of, upon inspection, water just within his reach set where he won't knock it over. 

From the last Arthur has to conclude that he's dealing with people; people who for some reason or another have decided to kidnap him and chain him to a wall in a cave for some reason.  
The advantage of people is that Arthur can at least try to talk to them, if they ever show up and he hasn't been chained to the wall to die for no good reason. Still until whomever has captured him shows up, Arthur decides to be careful with the water.

He's starting to panic slightly before he hears the sounds that could be footsteps. They sound off somehow, but the sound is coming closer so Arthur is happy either way. He does huddle as close to the wall as he can get in case who ever comes for him decides to do damage first and talk later. As the sound comes closer he does start to wonder why who ever it is, is wearing heals that is until a shape materializes on the other side of the cavern he's in.

At first the wrongness of it doesn't register; Arthur sees that the person who has come to find him is very tall and broad shouldered, but then when he looks closer he notices the legs twisted into a configuration that isn't possible in a man. The creature steps forward into the light and Arthur's jaw falls open in shock. His brain refuses to process what he's looking it: his eyes skating over the very male chest gleaming in the dim light, the powerful thighs that narrow down into powerful lower legs but end in hooves instead of feat covered in hide instead of skin. Thick arms partly covered in hide and large hands balled into loose fists, hard human abdomen and a head that is a shape no human head should be. Arthur can see horns framing the head like a crown and glowing red points in the middle of the shadow that covered the face.  
The closer the creature steps, the more details Arthur can discern and none of them are human when the creature stands fully in the light Arthur's brain finally has to admit that he's staring at something that cannot be: a creature that is part man and part bull. The muzzle is not quite that of an actual bovine; Arthur can almost make out traces of human features, the eyes are too far to the front of the head and the ears are too low on the head. All in all it's a creature that shouldn't be no matter how many legends mentioned it. It...he, the creature is bare and obviously very, very male takes another step closer and Arthur spots an actual tail whipping around behind the creature. 

"Fuck me!" Arthur moans wondering what he's been given to hallucinate something like this. The creature squats down after taking another step closer leaning forward until most of his body weight is resting on his arms and Arthur can almost feel the creature's heat.

"Would you let me?" The voice is deep and low, it vibrates down Arthur's spine as he tries to figure out where it has come from. The creature cocks his head shifting his weight from his arms back to his haunches. 

"Not only am I hallucinating, I'm hallucinating a perverted cow. And no that wasn't an invitation!" Arthur snaps wondering how long it will take for whatever it is in his system to stop working so he can start thinking about trying to get himself out of this demented situation.

"Shame..." The voice rumbles, the creature shifts a leg and Arthur's attention is drawn by the sheath visible between the muscular arms; it's large enough that Arthur can't help but wonder how large the cock he sheath is hiding is and if that is human or bovine. "You're pretty...though I'm not a cow, miss a couple of bits for that." 

"You're a hallucination anyway." Arthur tells him deciding that maybe he should drink a bit more just in case.

"I hate to tell you this, but I'm not." The creature says lunging forward to wrap a paw around Arthur's ankle. The paw, hand, whatever it is feels warm and where two fingers slip under the cuff of his jeans he can feel the roughness of the finger pads.  
Arthur doesn't squeak in shock, he does kick out to shake the hand off his limb and curls tighter in on himself.

"You can't be real." He bites out because he can't think of anything else to say. If the creature is real Arthur has no idea how to get himself out of the mess he's in. 

"'fraid I am." The creature says and its face twists into something that Arthur suspects might be a grin. As they talk the creature's face seems to melt and when Arthur squints he can almost swear that he's looking at a human face with a mouth that's a tad too big and nose that's a bit too broad and flat. "You're different, everyone else is usually screaming by now." He lets Arthur know flicking his tail against the stones.

"You've had people here before." Arthur concludes angrily, "What happened to them?" He can't help asking because whatever happened to them will surely happen to him. 

"They angered me." The creature tells him and the red of his eyes flash a bit. Arthur can read between the lines quite well, he's gotten good at it while writing all his papers based on scant sources he's been able to find. 

"I'll do that as well. Whatever you want me for...I'll tell you now I'm not very nice." The creature bares his teeth as Arthur tells him that in something that's probably a smile.

"That's alright darling, I'm not very nice either." The creature shifts again flopping down onto it's side close enough that Arthur has no means to escape the corner he's sitting in without having to stop over the creature.  
This close Arthur notices that skin and hide blend in patches. The hide is covered with short fur that's somewhere between brown and red while the skin has a golden glow of someone who spends a lot of time in the sun. 

"Why am I here? Assuming, which I still not sure about, that I'm not hallucinating? I'll be missed if I don't come back by the evening." Arthur points out mentally awarding himself points for the lie, because Monday is the earliest he will be missed if he's lucky and a lot can happen in two days.

"You can assume all you want. You were on my territory, and by law everything found there is mine to do with as I please. And currently it pleases me to talk to you instead of killing you." The creature explains rolling onto his stomach, maybe accidentally, showing off his broad shoulders and muscular back and ass bisected by a line of hide and slightly longish fur that melds into the long tail topped with a tuft of long brown hair that's waved at Arthur as soon as the creature notices where he's looking.

"What the fuck are you?" He asks, because for a hallucination the creature is very well put together. Arthur isn't sure that without the use of opiates he has imagination enough to put something like this together on his own...

"What do I look like to you?" The creature questions in return.

"Like something I'd be hallucinating after using something while reading Greek myths." Arthur sighs leaning back against the surprisingly warm rock wall. He studies the creature's head noting that the ears move as if feeling his gaze while the creature studies him right back.

"Do that a lot?" The creature inquires, Arthur barely hears the question because the creature's tail keep swaying in the air drawing Arthur's attention back to the tight, full globes of the creature's ass.  
Arthur is the first to admit that he is really overdue to get laid, especially not that a hallucinated half cow, half man is starting to look good.

"Do what?" He snaps annoyed with the situation, the shameless hallucination and his life in general. 

"Get high while reading Greek myths?" The creature clarifies wiggling his body as if getting a bit more comfortable and somehow ending up closer to Arthur than before. He isn't sure if that's a threat or something else, as intimidating as the creature is, and Arthur reminds himself that he's still manacled to the wall as well, the conversation makes it difficult to be scared. He curls up tighter just in case and refrains from telling the creature that getting high while reading Greek myths is a good way to jerk off. Arthur has always been very fond of imagining having sex with the big burly males from the stories, not that that means he would actually have any with...

"Do you have a name? I can't keep calling you hallucination, it's annoying." Because if Arthur is going to be stuck with the creature for an extended period of time he wants facts.

"I'm Eames." The creature says sounding a bit bashful all of a sudden as if divulging his name is something sort of special after all the intrusive questions. Arthur tries to resist for a couple of breaths but good manners take over.

"Arthur, it's...I can't say it's nice to meet you actually." He huffs because, really.

"It is nice to meet you." Eames grins again, the tip of his tail high in the air and vibrating cheerfully, "And if you give it a chance I might grow on you." He almost purrs sending a shiver down Arthur's spine.

"A fungus might too." Arthur can't resist pointing out, but he lets himself relax just a little. If he's lucky Eames will have as much trouble with killing someone he knows the name off as Arthur had with aunt Victoria's chicken.

"I'm cuter." Eames points out inching a bit closer again.

"That's debatable, now that we've gotten to know each other how about removing the manacles?" He jangles the chains that are now lying in his lap heavy and clumsy.

"Sorry Arthur, can't do that, not for a little while anyway. Can't have you wandering around sticking your pretty head where it doesn't belong." Eames pulls back as he talks, pulling his legs under him until he's crouching again and rises to his feet.

"Why?" Arthur demands, he doesn't realize that he's jumped up in anger at being denied his freedom until the chains stop his progress as he tries to follow Eames as he retreats.

"Because you might try to run, and I'd have to chase you and that...would not end well." Eames tells him still keeping his back to Arthur. The answer stops Arthur in his tracks, reminds him that Eames might seem friendly but is a strange, unpredictable creature that Arthur can't make demands of and shouldn't provoke. 

"You could...not chase me...?" Arthur tells him as he returns to his corner. He has to swallow a scream when all of a sudden Eames looms over him; red eyes blazing and barely anything human left in his face, his hands clawed as he rakes them over the stone wall next to Arthur's head. Bits of stone ricochet off Arthur's ear and hot breath ruffles the hair at his temple. Somehow Eames' voice seems lower and deeper.

"You'll find Arthur that I cannot." The words leave Arthur breathless with fear, surrounded by Eames' body for a second that feels like an eternity before Eames pushes off the wall, twists away barely keeping from slapping  
Arthur in the face with his tail and stomps away.  
Arthur is left in much the same position as he was when he woke up, only much more confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing that this got as far as it did once I realized how many bull jokes could be made.  
> At least I kept myself from installing morphing software just to get the visual references I needed/need :P
> 
> ->A new chapter 8 has been added as well. Next part Dictator Eames.


	19. Chapter 19

Eames is a walking contradiction: a frame that wouldn't be surprising on a professional fighter and piano players hands at the ends of delicate wrists. Artist's hands, aristocrat's hands fluttering around as he talks nervously that somehow, when balled into fists, turn lethal.

Arthur will never admit how much he gets off on seeing those artist's hands with their knuckles scraped and swollen after a fight. These days it takes a lot to provoke the forger into fighting; after Inception Eames started cultivating the consigliore type of image, sitting back and letting the 'young bloods' try their hand instead of going out and working like a decent criminal should. He doesn't even bother real life forging any longer, his studio full of half finished canvases of original work that if finished might catch the interest of a gallery or two but Eames never seems to be in any hurry to do anything with them.

His fascination with Eames' hands keep Arthur coming back despite the amount of irritation the rest of Eames causes him. In his dreams Arthur has frequently entertained the notion of simply cutting off Eames' arms at the elbow and taking them along to have them bronzed or embalmed so that Arthur can keep them in his living room or office to be admired at Arthur's convenience without the additional hassle.

"I love the little smile you get when you're plotting my murder, pet." Eames' thick, broad tongue swipes across his ear sloppily. Arthur feels hot breath on the back of his neck and then Eames is gone out of Arthur's personal space sauntering across the room towards the wet bar to grunt happily at the selection.

"Not murder, just mutilation." He corrects and watches happily as Eames stiffens for an instant before regaining his composure. "I like your hands Mr. Eames." Said hands twitch on the heavy crystal tumbler with a few inches of clear liquid that's probably vodka but could possibly begin.

"I'll take that as a compliment shall I, darlin'?" He smiles easily but Arthur can see violence in Eames' eyes ready to be unleashed to anyone and everyone who attempts to take him down. Arthur misses the early days when that violence was far less leashed, far closer to the surface radiating from Eames' hole stance.

"Take it any way you want." Arthur wonders what Eames will do if he tries to take him down. Eames is heavier mostly with muscle but he is slower for it. The age difference might be present but it isn't strictly speaking relevant, not quite yet the only variable is the weapons hidden under Eames' clothing. Eames might be playing the gentleman but that doesn't mean that he won't have a straight razor strapped to the back of his belt or some other nasty toy.

Arthur himself is of course armed with his favorite gun and a couple of knives because he's working. Still in close quarters a gun isn't always the best tool for the job. "Why are you here darlin'?" Eames finally sighs throwing himself into one of the easy chairs to finger the tumbler and avoid Arthur's eyes.

"I have a proposition for you." That makes Eames look up from under his lashes with glint in his eye that Arthur doesn't like. " _Not_ the kind you're thinking off." He adds before Eames can open his mouth. While Arthur isn't sure that Eames would take it that way, he prefers making certain up front before the conversation degenerates into flirting.

"Out of the business aren't I?" He's rebuked mildly as Eames finally takes a sip and nods to himself in approval.

"Bullshit." Arthur doesn't bother to qualify the statement leaning back, wondering what effect loosening his tie will have.

"Really darlin', I'm a made man why would I bother any longer? All the risk and running around—It's a young man's game." Eames tells him virtuously and all Arthur can do is laugh.

"You're five years older than I." Granted Eames has always looked older than his actual age worn down by life and Eames' favorite excesses. Arthur looks at Eames' hands again manicured now and looking almost soft. A forger has to take care of his hands of course: they are his livelihood after all, even if he no longer forges in the real world. "Mr. Eames I want you to name your price."

"You haven't even told me what you need me for darlin'." He finally stops playing with the tumbler putting it down on the small table next to the chair and leaning forward all business. "—Yet here you are letting me set my price, that tells me that what I should be doing is staying as far away from whatever mess you're in as possible."

"Except that you're bored." Arthur interrupts him irritation rising, if only Eames would make some effort they could rule the world or at least the Dreamshare part of it but instead Eames throws it all away on empty thrills and overly romantic notions.

"No-one had died from boredom before Arthur, foolhardy ventures on the other hand—those..."

"You never used to be this—cautious." It's a complication Arthur didn't expect, used to be all he had to do is show a little interest and Eames would be there at his side. "Something has changed." He has to conclude hating that he has no idea what exactly that 'something' is. He should have the information at his fingertips and yet Arthur has no idea what has made Eames decide to suddenly grow up.         


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!New chapter nine has been added to keep the whole Dictator Eames thing together!!!!

Hallo darling,

As you're reading this I'm already on my way to goal.

I'm not sure if this will shock you, or if I should have build up to the great reveal but I always seem to lose my words around you. So there it is: I begged the officer in charge of the cells for pen and paper to notify a loved one of my fate. In case it isn't clear: you're that loved one Arthur.

I know we aren't like that, we can't be and had this situation not arisen I wouldn't have burdened you with this information.

Not that you are wondering, but I am innocent of the crime I am accused of. That particular robbery was done by someone who didn't ~~spend the night in fucking your tight ass~~ have your lovely body to occupy himself with that night. I'm afraid you're my alibi darling, and the reason I'm going away for quite a bit. Don't worry about me dropping you in it, ~~you're far too precious to me~~  honor among thieves and all I shall consider this the proper punishment for corrupting the ~~not so~~ innocent that you were when I met you.

I'm not addled enough to expect you to wait for me or anything like that. In fact I insist that you debauch and raise hell like it's for the both of us. In less than a year you'll be able to leave home and then... Forgive me being maudlin darling, but the prospect of ten years in goal is somewhat daunting even for one like me. Naive of me, I know, probably even bloody stupid but I never expected to go to prison. I've thought about going out with a hail of bullets or maybe a noose but never this, never moldering away year after year.

I'll not bore you with all of that, if you're still reading that is. I suppose it's my ego that demands I finish this letter good and proper instead of just sending you a note Arthur. The prospect of never seeing you again makes this easier, curious isn't it?

I wanted to give you the world darling, to take you away from the drudgery somewhere where no one knows us where we could live like kings. ~~I would have stolen the moon for you if I could, and now,~~ now someone else will get to experience all of that with you. All I beg of you is that when you finally meet this person, the one who will make you happy for the rest of your life give them a chance! No matter how silly you think all the emotional tripe is, do give it a try if only to tick it off the list.

I suppose I should wrap up now, I'd love to go on but you usually don't and this is for you after all. Just let me say that I love you Arthur. I wish I would get the chance to say this to you in person: maybe over breakfast in a posh bed that's bigger than a room. You might indulge me by allowing roses and champagne in the morning, ~~and I'd suck you till you begged.~~ then we could take a walk along the Paris canals.

I'll finish now, I won't write to you again. I'm not sure if I'll be allowed to write to anyone ever again, I'm not sure if I'll ever feel like writing again.

I'm going to try to forget you Arthur. I'm going to be wiping every memory I have of you from my mind so all that all that's left is a black hole. I can live with a black hole, but not with remembering what I'll never have again.

Forget about me darling.

Regards,

Eames   


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so an unfortunately times visit to 4chan in the middle of a World of Warcraft bing is to blame for this one...

His life, Arthur decides, has certainly taken a strange turn somewhere. The clouds of steam billowing from the bathhouse betray Eames' location, so Arthur heads over nodding at the peons he encounters politely. The heat inside almost makes him swoon before he manages to take off his robes. Naked he approaches the large tub that, thanks to the large body it contains, manages to look cramped. His captor is happily soaking in the scalding water, head thrown back against the rim and eyes closed trusting that his subjects will protect him from any and all danger.

Soundlessly Arthur enters the ridiculously hot water to stand over the large body wishing, not for the first time, for a dagger or sword...A paw closes around his ankle still manages to feel hotter than the water, caressing up his leg and not for the first time Arthur wonders how the beast knows every time he's around. The rough yet delicate touch sends shivers down his spine as giving in to the inevitable he steps closer straddling the thick body. The creature growls happily as Arthur makes himself comfortable on the hard abdomen allowing the large paws to roam his body without protest.

"Did you miss me, pet?" The beast rasps tangling his fingers in Arthur's hair and Arthur finds that he has to actually consider the question. Does he miss getting pawed and used by a lesser being? Having to submit to bestial lusts and spend his night looking up at a face of a creature that's used to scare little children into behaving. Strange, that he does find himself having missed the beast's presence.

"No." He still denies gasping when the beast growls unhappily gathering Arthur's hair into his fist forcing him to bend until they are nose to nose.

"Then I'll just have to try harder, won't I?" The question sounds more like a threat leaving him shuddering with the sound of his voice alone. His cock twitches against his abdomen at the prospect as the beast grins around his fangs.

The fangs make being kissed an interesting experience, he'd not wanted to submit to it for the longest time yet Eames had been persistent. A thick, rough tongue fills his mouth robbing him of breath and distracting Arthur from his thoughts, and somehow he ends up sucking said tongue semi-contently rubbing himself against the ridges of the hard muscle under him.

"I have missed you elf." The beast confides finally releasing Arthur to draw breath, a sharp fang scratches along Arthur's throat as he's forced back until he feels the creature's thick length along his ass.

He wonders why the Orc should miss him? The war train always contained willing bodies and as high in the pecking order as Eames seems to be, he doesn't have to suffer an empty bed even when not resorting to whores and yet, the way the beast talks Arthur is left with the impression that he is the only one to suffer Eames' attentions. Considering what Arthur knows about the Orcs in general, it is an unusual if not unnatural state of affairs.

"You think too much, darling." The words sound strange in Common, the language not meant for a mouth that's  meant for snarls, growls and the rending of flesh. Arthur wonders how long it took for Eames to learn to speak properly, if distinctly accented.

"Someone has to." He sinks his nails into Eames' tough hide raking them down the broad chest and abdomen much to the Orc's delight. In hindsight, Arthur should have known that fighting was a mistake: Eames had taken it as encouragement and still actively enjoys the few marks Arthur manages to leave on his hide. They pale in comparison with the scars left behind by conflict which Eames proudly displays at every opportunity or the strange designs painted permanently on his skin. Originally Arthur had thought them to be protections from which ever gods or powers the Orcs worship, yet he had noticed that none of the Orcs he's meet so far have similar designs leaving him to suspect that the designs are the owners personal preferences. He's found that Eames is perfectly content to sprawl lazily on his pallet allowing Arthur to explore.

A slap on his ass jerks Arthur from his thoughts to hiss at the unrepentant beast, ignoring that the short, sharp pain that turns into warmth that fans his excitement. Reaching behind him, Arthur wraps his hand around the impossibly thick shaft poking him in the back. His hole clenches in anticipation, Arthur gets himself under control refusing to yield easily. Eames chuckles almost unseating Arthur from his perch to his great irritation and forcing him to grab on.

"Shall I remedy this?" Eames offers, his paws closing on Arthur's hips urging him up on his knees. He considers protesting, but Eames' fingers have already found their way to the entrance to his body, rubbing and prodding teasingly. Arching his back to accommodate the disgustingly pleasurable touch, Arthur buries his face in the hard chest filling his mouth with skin the color of the forests of his home.

He isn't sure how Eames acquires the oil, but it is not water alone that facilitates the entry of thick fingers into Arthur's body. As always he marvels at the way his body accommodates the intrusion fighting to draw breath as he is worked open without mercy if with care. Arthur isn't sure how he has gotten to this moment, to wanting the beast's cock inside of him pummeling him into ecstasy and leaving Arthur a wrung out delirious mess.

Eames growls contently under him, his free hand tangling in Arthur's hair wrapping the long strains around his fist like a leash. The manhandling should disgust him, the roughness and force used against him should not make him ache for more.

"My pretty little elf." The Orc moans pushing another finger into Arthur. "Your body missed me, I can feel it." His body, Arthur concedes, has missed Eames or at least the way the Orc makes him feel. He tightens his passage around the fingers  and ignoring the pleased sounds Eames makes because of it. "I want to see you ride me, darling." Eames husks letting his free hand roam across Arthur's back, his nails scratching up and down Arthur's spine.

Arthur would prefer not to grant any requests, but he likes the position too much to refuse. Bracing against hard muscle he raises himself in anticipation, biting his lips at the feeling of a too big cock being pressed into his body. Even now he isn't capable of taking the length without whimpering or being robbed of breath while tears spring from his eyes. His body fights the intrusion as it always does, until it hits that one spot inside of Arthur's body that sets him aflame and after that, his body sucks Eames in as if he's been made specifically for Arthur's pleasure.

He's love to force himself down, taking him all the way inside of him and yet being forced to take his time gives a certain pleasure as well letting him experience every inch of the cock conquering him. Eames pets him encouragingly but doesn't force despite the tension Arthur can feel radiating from the powerful body. Orcs are not shy in their emotions, or their lusts: Arthur has seen them take one another in plain sight mating like beasts while fighting for control over each other males and females alike but Eames doesn't seem to feel the urge far too often allowing Arthur to do as he wills as long as he's getting his own way in the end.

It feels like an eternity before he's fully seated, speared and filled yet still wanting more. Rising up again is just as torturous but here Eames helps his hands wrapping around Arthur's thighs with ease. Bright blue eyes glowing like sapphires in pleasure as around them the water sloshes over the rim of the tub.

Connected like this, Arthur almost believes that the beast has some semblance of tender feelings for him, feelings he isn't supposed to be capable of. He leans down, and for the first time offers a kiss instead of just the opportunity for Eames to take it. Tusks brush against his cheeks as he licks into the Orc's mouth until Eames is groaning, then sinks his teeth into the plump bottom lip until he draws blood.

Eames surges up, sitting up and pushing impossibly deeper into Arthur's body. He's hands grip hard enough to leave bruises on Arthur's thighs and ass as they continue to feed on each other's mouths. Power and pleasure surge through Arthur's body taking hold of it as never before. His hands dig into the hard muscle of Eames' shoulders the power turning nails into claws that tear Eames' skin and the water around them turns crimson.

A plea for Elune's blessing escapes Arthur as he tears his mouth away from Eames' and the tent is bathed in her glow as Arthur opens his lip on Eames' tusk offering his blood in return. Wrapped up in blood and sex the world falls away for just a moment leaving just them as lovers and mates lost in ecstasy.

Whatever fate Arthur may have envisioned for himself in the past, it fades away like early morning fog reforming into certainty that he shall walk whatever path is laid out for him with Eames at his side.                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, I really do...


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saccharine type of cuteness   
> cold feet and socks   
> gods help me this might actually have a T rating 0.o

Eames has always enjoyed the winter: the chill in the air, the possibilities of snow drifts and the way that on clear days the sky looks like it's full of diamonds early in the morning just before the sun rises. Cold is something that happens to other people as far as he's concerned, a nice sweater and a decent jacket usually do the job along with the fuzziest, mot obnoxious ear warmers he can find when around Arthur.

The American might be the love of his life, but that doesn't mean Eames won't embrace every chance he gets to drive the man up the wall. Arthur, most of the time, suffers not so silently refusing to descend to Eames' level while sniping and bitching in return. At least he usually does, and Eames doesn't expect anything less after chucking a few snowballs at his lover's head...only to get frozen out for the rest of the evening. 

Arthur locks himself in his office for the rest of the evening not even coming out for tea leaving Eames to amuse himself and pout. He watches TV until he's sick of it before giving up and slinking off to the bedroom wondering if he'll be left to sleep alone as well. 

The pile of blankets on one side of the bed leaves Eames feeling optimistic that maybe he isn't as far in the doghouse as previously expected...There is even a blanket left over presumably for him, it's a bit on the thin side but not the worse he's slept  under over the years. Arthur doesn't move and Eames decides that apologizing can wait until the morning. 

He makes himself comfortable as best he can without the possibility of curling around the slender man, still Eames is smiling while considering his options to get Arthur less grumpy again in the morning as he falls asleep.

And wakes up screaming when blocks of ice are shoved into the small of his back. He's standing next to the bed before his brain cells even manage to kick in rubbing at the chilled skin of his back and wondering if he shouldn't go check for frostbite when he finally manages to catch sight of the blocks of ice in question...which turn out to be decidedly foot shaped and attached to Arthur.

Somehow Arthur has managed to get turned around his sleep causing his feet to stick out from under the pile of blankets...Eames watches the toes twitch in the cold air of the bedroom wiggling and stretching as if looking for another heat source. He can't help wonder how those feet can feel so damn  cold  considering Arthur has the majority of the blankets. Poking at an icy sole only results in barely avoiding a vicious kick, and Eames can't figure a way to occupy the available space in bed without coming into contact with the frozen appendages again. 

He can't help wondering if this is Arthur's revenge, and if so how he's managing it. Eames can't remember being faced with this problem before...even last winter...which they had spend  lazying  around on the Canary Islands. He starts to suspect that there is a reason why Arthur demanded they go to Spain, two reasons in fact which Eames still has no idea what to do with. Mount Arthur still looks dead to the world and Eames likes his balls right where they are thank you very much, so changing that is out.

Covering them up is the only option really, unfortunately Arthur won't be caught dead in any except silk socks and those do nothing to ward off the cold. Fortunately Eames is less of a snob and after a bit of digging around two pairs of sport socks materialize thick and hopefully warm enough that Eames will manage to get some sleep. Kneeling where he figures he's out of kicking range and attempts to snare one icy appendage and predictably gets kicked for his effort. Briefly he considers just sitting on Arthur and pinning him to the bed...but decides the bruises won't be worth it. Patience finally accomplishes what brute force cannot and Eames is angling to catch the other foot when Mount Arthur decides to erupt.

"What—are you doing?" Arthur freshly burrowed from under the blankets looks precious: his hair stands on end and there are creases on his face. If Eames hadn't been sure that he is idiotically in love with the man before, he's sure now trying to hold his ground as Arthur squints at him as if deciding not so much  if  he is going to bite, but  where . Eames has to fight the urge to hide the sock he's still holding behind his back, despite its companion already gracing Arthur's foot. "And why am I wearing  a sport sock ?" 

Eames squirms wondering what kind of answer will result in less punishment. "Are you by any chance related to the frost giants of old  darlin ' and neglected to tell me?" Comes out of his mouth before he can stop himself and Arthur frowns harder.

"Frost giants? Really?" Arthur frowns poking at his sock clad foot as if afraid that it's going to bite.

"Well considering the blocks of bloody ice that got shoved into my kidneys...I imagine it's either that Elsa did a hell of a lot more with that snowman than they showed in the pictures." 

"I'm cutting off your television privileges." Arthur tells him. "Until you're pop culture free and I don't get the urge to strangle you every time you open your mouth." While Eames may admit he's been binging on movies and the like a bit too much of late, there not being any interesting jobs to be had forging or stealing so Eames may have let himself go a bit...But getting his  telly  privileges taken away is a bit harsh, considering they are both adults and all. 

"Every time I open my mouth?" He can't help smirking, because Arthur may not like anything that comes out of Eames' mouth...but he sure loves sticking things in. A disgruntled growl is his only answer and miraculously Arthur doesn't try to get rid of the sock, taking it as a positive Eames inches closer until he can catch the other icy foot and cover it up as well only getting poked with icy toes once or twice. "That's a good pet." He grins as Arthur studies his state of dress intently.

"You could just turn on the heat you know." He tells Eames balefully.

"You sleep better in the cold,  darlin ' and it's better for the environment." The later making a better argument to sway Arthur than the former. Eames doubts he'll ever see the day when Arthur admits to having trouble sleeping under certain circumstances or being uncomfortable in any other way. He still glares at the socks and Eames wonders if he's going to be getting any more sleep tonight. A couple of blankets disappear off the pile freeing up more of Arthur and Eames has the di stinct pleasure of seeing Arthur's nipple pebbl ing in the cool bedroom air. Somehow the realization that his darling really isn't cold proof never dawned before...it almost makes him regret pelting Arthur with snow.

"How about I help you warm up?" He offers figuring that the fast Arthur is distracted from examining his socks the better the chances both of them will get some more sleep soon. "Just the way you like it—all snug in your blankets while I suck your cock."

When the suggestion doesn't get shot down at once, Eames cautiously moves closer reaching out to wrap one hand around a sock clad ankle to make room for himself. With the cotton barrier between his side and Arthur's still rather icy foot Eames doesn't have to worry about getting frostbite any longer. S o he can concentrate on getting Arthur's  already interested cock out of his shorts wrapping his lips around the warm flesh at once, before Arthur can complain about the chill. 

Eames works his way down, filling his mouth as far as he is able before settling in for a languid suck enjoying the taste and smell of his lover. Contented purrs start up from above him soon enough as Arthur's hips start to move fucking in and out of Eames' mouth. When he looks up, Eames is treated to the interesting sight of Arthur almost completely cocooned in his hoard of blankets looking down at him hungrily. His own cock  grinds against the bed reminding Eames that he hasn't gotten any the whole evening and his body is protesting the lack. 

"Eames—fuck me already!" Arthur growls reaching out to tug him up by the hair. Eames makes sure to warm the lube in his hand before going anywhere near Arthur's ass lowering Arthur's boxers just enough to get at Eames' favorite toy. Sinking into his lover, Eames buries his face in Arthur's shoulder, enjoying the way Arthur claws at his back pulling him inside his body and the blanket cocoon at once. They rock together slowly, Arthur's cock caught between their bellies is soon leaking sticking them together.

"I can't believe I'm fucking with  socks on! ' Arthur groans into his ear and Eames has to smother a laugh. Not that Arthur's disgust with the circumstances prevents Arthur from squeezing Eames' cock every time he thrusts in and coming all over the both of them when Eames really starts hammering into him. 

They end up sticky and sloppy curled around each other under Arthur's heap of blankets, Arthur's sock clad feet carefully positioned as far away from Eames' side as possible while keeping them nice and toasty. "I hate the cold." Arthur murmurs sleepily against Eames' shoulder, Eames just pets him until grumbling about cold and socks turns into soft snores.


	23. Chapter 23

 

What he remembers most are the delicate hands: long, slender fingers balled into a fist or wrapped delicately around a bottle, always and forever scraped and swollen knuckles sharp enough to cut skin, or so Eames had liked to imagine. The bones of the wrist sticking out, the palm deceptively soft and almost always hidden if not by the curl of the hand than by a layer of grime. 

Eames fell in love with those hands long before he'd even noticed the rest of the boy.

There are a lot of them: the street urchins, the dirty faced little demons who roam all but the richest parts of town swarming on every corner much to other pedestrian's irritation. Eames likes to watch them, covertly, the way they claw and scratch their way through life.

It's a harmless waste of time when he can't even think about picking up a brush. He likes watching people and not only because it's part of his job description. A long, long time ago Eames was one of those dirty faced angels. If it hadn't been for Bertie, he doesn't like to think where he'd have ended up... 

Eames didn't even plan on ever finding out the boy's name, except that he'd been walking through the market and someone screamed "Arthur! No!" Just before a slender shape barreled into him and Eames was momentarily mesmerized by deep brown eyes before the boy turns and disappears into the crowd. It takes him a minute to realize that along with the fascinating brown eyes, his watch has disappeared as well. 

He should have felt the chain getting unhooked, but the boy is good and Eames was distracted. It takes him a while and a couple of bribes, but both watch and  _Arthur_  are delivered into his care soon enough. Sprawled across the couch, lazily smoking a cigarette, Eames watches how the not-so-little urchin paces like a caged panther in front of the fireplace leaving muddy footprints across the antique Persian carpet and thinks himself for the first time since reaching maturity, in love.


	24. Chapter 24

It is the nature of their profession that not everything can be shared. As much as they are 'together' these days, Arthur disappearing for a day or two when they are in New York isn't something that's commented on. In London, Eames pulling the vanishing act is also almost expected. Neither expects an invitation from the other to come along. Family, and other loved-ones is something to be carefully protected and not sharing the burden is simply safer.

Arthur wouldn't even have noticed, despite Eames barging into their apartment clumsy with drink and barely coherent if not for the taste of blood when Eames forcibly drags him away from his laptop and into a sloppy kiss. Along with blood, Eames tastes of alcohol and cigarettes, curry and adrenaline, he doesn't even seem to notice the cut slitting his bottom lip until Arthur pokes at it.

"What the hell have you been doing?" He questions, torn between going for the first aid kid and painting Eames' lips with the blood in a parody of lipstick. "Wen' ta watch some footy with me mates." Eames growls happily swaying where he stands. "How does watching soccer result in a split lip?" Arthur frown.

He doesn't expect Eames to reach out and flick his ear. "Football bruv! 's called football an' it happenssss—" Eames bats at Arthur's hands when the younger man attempts to steer him towards one of the lazy chairs close by. "Can't 'ave anyone mouthing off 'bout my club."

"It's twenty-two men chasing a ball, Eames." Arthur wonders if knocking the Englishman out isn't the best solution for both of them. Leaving him conscious, is practically a guarantee that Arthur's blood pressure is going to skyrocket any moment now.

"You iz lucky that I love ya pet." Sprawled in the chair Eames cracks his already bruised and swollen knuckles dramatically.

"I'd shoot you before you got a finger on me." Arthur throws over his shoulder heading to the kitchen to get the biggest glass of water he can find. He's never really been attracted to sports outside of the practical side of them. Activities where he had to be in the middle of a large crowd, had never been appealed and fighting for the same of a game...

When he comes back into the sitting room Eames has pulled his shirt off, bruises already starting to bloom on his body here and there. Arthur is just thankful that there isn't any more blood visible: the last time he'd had to stitch Eames up he'd had to listen to Eames whining about crooked stitches until they came out. Taking the glass of water with a grimace, Eames looks up at him with a bloody grin.

"Next time we're here, I'm taking you to a game luv. You'll like it." The grin is disturbingly infectious. After Eames finishes the glass and sets it aside, he reaches for Arthur making grabby hands until with a tortured sigh straddles his lap. "We'll talk about it." He's tempted to resist when he's pulled down for another sloppy kiss growling when he feels Eames' hand worm its way into the back of his slacks. "Eames, you're too drunk to screw me properly."

"No, I ain't" Eames denies, his fingers insistently probing at Arthur's ass.

"If I let you fuck me right now and you fail—" He threatens, already knowing that he's going to let Eames slobber all over him anyway.

"I'll let you dress me for a day." Eames murmurs against his throat as Arthur freezes.

"That—" Is almost an invitation to lie even if Eames manages to make him black out in ecstasy. He grabs a hank of sweaty hair forcing Eames to look up at him. "Is not playing fair!"

Eames just keeps on grinning.       


	25. Chapter 25

The prisoners howl and whistle as the slender young man moves through the hall with a determined expression. Most occupants of the cells hanging on the bars trying to grab the strange visitor for at least a grope or two only falling silent when the man stops at a cell, turning to glare back at the guards at the controls.

"Open it up!" Eames suppresses a grin at the familiar growl. He leans against the wall behind the bunk, probably the only man in the corridor who isn't salivating over their visitor. Twelve men to a cell, and none of them notice he hiding...well not really hiding, just making things more interesting. No one comments on his lack of interest, his room-mates having gotten used to the fact that on the whole, Eames doesn't care about the goings on in the prison as long as they don't affect him directly. They still aren't sure what to make of him, but after the little incident in the first week of his residency, no one had tried to bother him over much.

Keeping in shape, did have its benefits. 

Arthur shoves the prisoners trying to crowd him aside like he would random pedestrians. Eames almost starts to think that nothing interesting will happen because his room-mates are too confused by the events to do anything but gape. Thankfully, two manage to gather  their thoughts, and end up on the floor with broken limbs as Arthur makes a particular effort to step on their backs.

He does love the sight: eyes blazing, simmering with anger Arthur is magnificent. Eames wants to bend him over one of the dirty bunks and fuck him until he suited  man is yowling for him.  Of course Arthur would kill him for just thinking about it, so Eames stays where he is letting Arthur come to him. 

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the American glares. "What the hell are you waiting for? A written invitation?" The bitchy tone makes him weak in the knees, well maybe a little. Fluttering his eyelashes, he cocks his hip invitingly. "Well, a girl does like to get asked." 

The comment causes some comment in the ranks of the observers, but Eames doesn't care. It has the needed effect: Arthur curses, steps forward pushing between Eames' legs, his fingers scraping across his scalp until they find enough hair for a half decent hold forcing Eames' head down. "Except you ain't a girl." Arthur snarls sinking his teeth in Eames' lip. 

Usually they are capable of being slightly more civilized, except it's been a month. When Arthur finally runs out of breath and lets Eames up, he's still wild eyed and practically vibrating with need. "Your days of lazying around are officially over Mr. Eames. Time to go to work." He orders, and Eames can't resist grabbing the slender man, turning the tables. He makes a particular effort to grind the neat and expensive suit against the grimy wall, lifting Arthur off his fee t as he fucks the American's mouth as he'd like to be fucking his ass until Arthur stops struggling and goes along. Only then, does Eames wrench himself away, steps back wiping his mouth as he meets the eyes of his former room-mates one by one holding each gaze long enough for them to look away.

After the last one steps back, Eames shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters towards the cell door. "Are you coming  darlin' ? No time to dally and all that!" He can feel Arthur's glare on his back, knows he'll suffer for the comment later when they have time to play and doesn't give a damn.


	26. Chapter 26

There is something impossibly arousing about getting manhandled.

Under the right circumstances of course.

Arthur smothers his moan of approval in a convenient pillow as his arms are wrenched high onto his back. He still tries to struggle happily only succeeding in grinding his ass against Eames' crotch. "Now, now, darling,—" The forger chides him, grinding right back. The rough wool of his pants scraping Arthur's skin. "You promised to be a good boy for me." Putting most of his weight on Arthur's back, Eames leans down to butt his jaw against the nape of Arthur's neck, and nip at the top of his spine until Arthur is whining steadily into the pillow damp with his own spit. He's going to be so raw in the morning—, Arthur can't wait.

Twisting his hand in Eames' grasp he manages to rub his fingers across Eames' abdomen, the thief's shirt having been lost in the previous tussle. He manages to grab and twist skin viciously leaving Eames cursing and slapping Arthur's ass. "Now you're just asking for it, pet." He rumbles twisting away, yet somehow managing to keep hold of Arthur's wrists.

Something sticky lands on Arthur's wrist, glues to his skin as it's wrapped tight around his wrists. He's fighting against Eames' hold again before his brain manages to process that Eames is duct-taping his arms together. "Nooooo!" He howls, but his wrists are already bound and Eames is wrapping the tape around Arthur's hands until he can't even move a finger. "Eames, no—" Arthur protests, but is ignored, hauled up by the throat so Eames can wrap a couple of lengths of tape around Arthur's torso taping his arms tight against his back.

"That should keep you nice and sweet." Eames pants in Arthur's ear dropping him mostly back on the bed, and stepping away. "You look good like this, darling. Very—artisan. Now be a love, and pull up a knee. Let me see your tight little ass spread open for me."Arthur buries his face in the pillow again, counts to ten and tries to get at least one coherent thought in his head. Only Eames' fingers are on his legs, drawing patterns on the backs of his thighs while he waits. "Do it, pet! Or I'll leave you like this." The threat is accompanied by sharp pinches right along the seam of ass and leg where for some reason it always hurts more.

Growling into the sheets, Arthur shifts his weight and drags his knee left knee up as requested, bracing his right against the floor. Eames, doesn't say anything, doesn't give any sign of what he intends to do. The nothing drags on and on, until Arthur is reading to demand that Eames do something—before a sharp whistle cuts through the air and a stripe of skin across his ass flares with agony.

It only gets worse from there, or better, Arthur isn't sure which really. Pain consumes him: all he can focus on is keeping his left leg on the bed as Eames ordered, and breathing. Screaming into the sheets is somewhere in there too, screaming his throat raw in fact when Eames concentrates on Arthur's inner thighs carefully painting every inch of skin there crimson with the belt.

After an eternity, Arthur realizes that all he can feel is the pulsing hot agony of deep bruises making themselves known, but no longer any sharp bursts of fresh pain shocking his system making him sob harder with every impact. His face is a mess: covered with tears, snot and spit as he bawls into the cotton as tension bleeds out of his pores, until the only hard part of Arthur's body is his dick that's trying to drill through the mattress.

Eames flips him over, careless of the painful way Arthur lands on his arms and abused ass. The only concession to Arthur's comfort is the wet washcloth scrubbed over Arthur's face, and even that is more for Eames' benefit than Arthur's. His legs are bend so Eames can use the tape to secure shins to thighs leaving Arthur shaped much like one of those torso's one can find in sex shops: a general shape with convenient holes to fuck and not much else.

Funny how his dick sways in the air regardless of Arthur's predicament, like it's reaching for Eames, and gets punished for the presumption. Eames' thick knuckles connecting with overheated flesh making Arthur scream anew. The mouth that follows: swallowing him to the root is hot, wet and greedy. Eames drooling annoyingly as he sloppily sucks, chocking himself on  Arthur's dick with gusto. Arthur opens his mouth to jowl in protest, only Eames' fingers force themselves into his mouth tasting like Arthur's pre-come, sweat and the ink Eames had been using all day. He concentrates on matching Eames' rhythm as he sucks on the fingers, on breathing through Eames pushing them as deep as they can go making him gag. He's on edge, his whole body tense in anticipation of orgasm, when Eames pulls away. Fingers and mouth disappear leaving Arthur bereft with only air caressing his body as he tries to comprehend what just happened. Without the pleasurable touch, the pains return: his arms, his ass, the annoyance of tape sticking and twisting against his skin.

Blearily, Arthur manages to focus his eyes, look up at his tormentor looming over him arms folded across his chest: big, broad shouldered, menacing and absurdly incendiary as far as Arthur is concerned. He whines wiggling and thrusting his hips in invitation only managing to make his dick flop around ridiculously. Not that Eames seems to mind: he never does when Arthur makes an idiot out of himself.

Eames finally drops his pants, showing off underwear soaked in pre-come, stands there looming over Arthur fondling himself, the teasing bastard until Arthur whines like a wounded dog desperate for what the sullied cotton is hiding. If he could get enough brain cells together to form words, Arthur would demand Eames come back at once and touch him again. Only his tongue won't obey, and his brain is still mush so all he can do is watch. Eames rubs his chest, flicks his nipples, and squeezes his dick through the translucent cotton stretching the fabric across the purple head. Arthur wants to taste him: wants to suck the material, nurse on the thick flesh, keep on sucking until Eames looses all control and just fucks his mouth.

Only that's not what Eames wants, and that is all what matters for tonight so Arthur moans, and wiggles and watches Eames finally fish his dick out of his shorts and pull on his nuts. "You look good like this, pet. All desperate and needy for me—," The forger muses, finally stepping out of his shorts, and kneeling on the bed, heavy dick swaying with every move, smacking against his abdomen wetly. "Now, what should I do with you?" He asks, not expecting an answer, reaching over to pluck at Arthur's nearest nipple. Eames keeps up the groping of Arthur's chest while thinking: pinching and scratching, kneading the slender pectoral in between. There is not much meat on Arthur to grab at, yet Eames doesn't seem to mind. Kneeling up, he slaps Arthur's chest leaving bright red handprints one each on both pectorals right above the black tape, then does it again when Arthur moans his approval.

"Pain slut." Eames accuses him gently, grabbing Arthur's hair tight to force his head up for a too gentle kiss. "If we didn't have to go tomorrow, I'd leave you tied up like this for the rest of the night. Have you try to sleep all trussed up and gagged, open and ready for me if I feel like shoving my cock into a tight, hole in the middle of the night."

Letting go of Arthur's hair, Eames curls around him, dick torturously close and yet far too far for Arthur to reach. He still tries to, sticks his tongue out as far as it will go making Eames laugh at his attempts. "Not yet, pet." He chides, tapping Arthur's extended tongue with a finger, but generously letting Arthur wrap it around the digit when Arthur licks at it, letting him draw the finger back into his mouth to suck on until it's good and wet. Draws random patterns on Arthur's chest and conclave abdomen with it until Arthur's spit tried before allowing him to suck again, and flicking at the protruding belly button.

The touch is too gentle. Eames, the bastard, knows how to drive Arthur crazy.

A fresh crop of stinging slaps come just as Arthur gets distracted by resentful thoughts regarding Eames' tendency to do exactly the opposing of what Arthur tells him. "I'll make you a deal, darling: I'll give you something to do with that vicious mouth of yours, and you stop complaining?" He sits up, making sure to brush against Arthur as much as possible as he does, throwing a leg over Arthur's shoulder, Eames' meaty ass ending up right in Arthur's face. For an instant he considers sinking his teeth into low hanging balls dangling just out of reach, but decides against it at the very last moment licking across the sweaty taint instead. "That's it, love." Eames groans approvingly, stretching himself over Arthur's body, heavy enough to make it difficult for Arthur to breathe.

Blunt nails and teeth on his inner thighs, hot teasing breath on his dick and Arthur is practically in heaven. For a while they are absorbed by the mechanics of sucking and licking. The room echoing with the wet sounds of mouths working on flesh and the occasion gasp when one of them comes up for air. Arthur is going to be a mess in the morning after Eames finishes: thighs and hips littered with the imprints of Eames' teeth for days to come.

He buries his face between Eames' cheeks, and thinks of nothing except the taste of sweaty skin and the occasional flare of pain when Eames forgets himself and bites a little too deep. He is aware that his ass is empty: he needs Eames inside of him, fingers, tongue, dick it doesn't really matter. Wants Eames' fingerprints on his ass from where he's been pinned down as Eames fucks into him brutally.

The forger gets off of him just as Arthur starts really enjoying his fantasy, leaving him gasping and whining for the return of Eames' touch. He's flipped onto his stomach instead, his dick getting crushed into the bed awkwardly, but he grinds against the bed anyway until Eames is on him again.

He's crushed into the mattress, Eames' fingers merciless as they open Arthur up roughly. His dick is ground painfully into the wrinkled sheets. Three fingers wide, Arthur looks forward to getting a dick forced up his ass, when Eames' grip changes. He's never had four fingers up him before: Eames' thick fingers force their way inside of him opening him painfully wide around his knuckles. "Such a pretty, pink hole. So eager to have something shoved up inside. Shall we try to get my fist to fit, darling?" Eames asks him far too casually, and for a second terror chokes Arthur more effectively than a noose.

He breathes through the fear that leaves his body cold and numb suspended in limbo as best he can. It helps that Eames doesn't move in inch until Arthur has his breathing under control again, and manages to twist enough to meet Eames' questioning gaze. Blinking once, Arthur smothers his face in the sheets as Eames fucks his fingers deep into his ass again. "Maybe next time—huh, pet?" Eames mumbles, probably not meant for Arthur's ears, leaning down to suck on a barely exposed fingertip. Arthur tries to make a mental note never to let Eames do that to him, not matter what—only a part of him, hesitates. Possibly the same part that trusts Eames enough to allow him to watch his back, to allow—this.

The edge of a nail digs in to the sole of his foot, makes him flop around and struggle to get away from the annoying, maddening touch. Eames doesn't like being ignored when he's doing Arthur a favour. Keeping his face buried in the sheets, Arthur holds his breath hoping he won't be made to wait longer for Eames' dick as punishment for not paying proper attention. Fortunately, Eames turns out as impatient to fuck as Arthur is to get fucked. Sweat and pre-come make for crappy lube, and under different circumstances Arthur might do serious damage to Eames if he'd even contemplated going in practically dry. Now, with his body already in overload, the shocky drag of Eames' dick as it is forced into Arthur's body is exactly what he needs.

Fresh tears spring to his eyes, air is forced out of his lungs as Eames sinks in to the hilt resting his full weight on Arthur's back. "You feel so good, pet." He groans into the back of Arthur's neck, nipping at his spine as he fucks harder and harder grinding Arthur into the matrass until he feels like Eames is out to snap his spine.His arms and legs are numb, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen, Arthur chews on the sheets fighting to keep from screaming just yet. Eames' body is solid and hot, and pretty soon the only thing Arthur is aware of any longer.

The rest of the world falls away, and Arthur drifts.

The world is colour and nothing hurts any longer, it's all sensation that makes him feel impossibly good, like nothing else can. His dick is raw, Eames' hand in his hair forcing his head back and up startling enough that he's slammed back into his body. "Come for me." Eames pants sinking his teeth into Arthur's shoulder.

The release almost pales compared to the rest of the sensations he's experienced. Arthur would almost prefer Eames to come himself and leave Arthur to—whatever instead of forcing him to come, then fucking him sore. Except Arthur had asked him exactly for that, and even if it doesn't happen exactly how Arthur imagines it, he's still gotten what he wanted. He drifts through Eames grunting something unintelligible and orgasming, then through being untied and checked over.

Some time later, he's on the less messy part of the bed, or possibly just on the top sheet watching Eames coming back from presumably the bathroom and collapsing next to him. "Everything to your satisfaction, pet?" The forger asks breath tickling Arthur's ear annoyingly. If he had the energy, he's push Eames away: as is Arthur only growls faintly when he's grabbed and pulled against Eames' side. If Eames wasn't so comfortable—, there are a lot of 'if only' laments Arthur can make. He sinks his teeth into the swell of the nearest pectoral instead drawing out a satisfying hiss of pain. "I could tie you back up." Eames threatens, but somehow manages to shift in a way that brings a nipple conveniently into biting range.

Arthur is more than happy to take the invitation, they can always talk later when he no longer feels like he could float out of his body any minute, and when Eames manages to get the suspiciously soft look out of his eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better safe than sorry non-con warning.

The slap shakes him and rattles Arthur's teeth, but for all the anger behind it, it feels almost lazy. Eames doesn't even bother to step back, his face unreadable watching Arthur probe his teeth with his tongue checking for any coming loose. It isn't like Arthur hadn't expected this outcome: getting slapped was the least he expected, and at least this gives clarity.

Eames makes a sport of misdirection, and really the easiest way to get most men to underestimate you is giving off a low level vibe of—gayness. Arthur has had to reeducate a colleague or two over the years, and then some, and has taken advantage of the fact as well. Still the slap stings for more than one reason, annoying as he is: Eames is still someone he wouldn't have minded at least trying to see if they could have made something work.

Shifting his weight back and forth he's trying to decide what the hell to do with his evening—when Eames steps too close for comfort reaching up to cup the same cheek he'd slapped. Rough fingertips on tender skin, Eames' thumb right under Arthur's jaw possibly to do more damage—Arthur braces for it in fact. Eames traces his jaw, then cheekbone frowning down at Arthur like he's going to have to reproduce him in a dream, hot, heaving breath tickling Arthur's skin.

Eames mouth tastes of cigarettes, elicit booze and mints: thick tongue, surprisingly agile as it explores the cavern of Arthur's mouth. His hands hold Arthur by the ears keeping him for pulling away as Eames pushes forward forcing Arthur to back into a wall until he has nowhere to go and their bodies are pressed together.

He moans into Eames' mouth, gets himself under control enough to raise his hands and dig his fingers in the hard muscle of Eames' back, allows himself to indulge as long as Eames is feeling—experimental. Only for Eames to wrench himself away cursing under his breath, slamming his fist into the wall an inch from Arthur's face. "The things you do to me, pet." The Brit growls, but he's still far too close and not exactly giving an impression of plans to move away. Taking a chance, Arthur worms his hands under Eames' shirt grabbing at skin and scar tissue. There is so much of Eames, and so little access that Arthur's growls into his mouth in frustration practically ripping the shirt he's fighting before Eames stills his hands and in one disgustingly theatrical gesture pulls his shirt off over his head. Arthur doesn't waste time, lunges for the bare flesh as best he can, managing to bite Eames' lip in his enthusiasm to resume the exploration of the forger's mouth as he fills his hands with Eames' flesh already imagining himself licking and sucking across the well of the broad pectorals, and down to the shallow navel to fuck the indentation with his tongue.

Eames' hands knead along Arthur's spine, slow and almost hesitant starting Arthur thinking again of getting slapped just minutes before. Still he isn't pulling away, or reacting negatively any longer so Arthur keeps indulging himself shoving a hand in Eames' pants grabbing at the meaty ass pushing their bodies together. Wiggling his fingers into the waistband he grabs a handful of ass that makes him moan in delight. Eames gasps against his mouth, Arthur's shirt is ripped open and dizzyingly they are suddenly skin to skin rubbing against each other like teenagers.

Afterwards, Arthur isn't sure who dragged the other to the bed. All he remembers is having difficulty prying his hands off of Eames' ass and tripping over his own feet while attempting to take his trousers off over his shoes and Eames laughing sprawled naked in the middle of the bed. He launches himself at the bigger man with a growl, sinking his teeth in skin right under Eames' breastbone and working his way down. Eames' hand finds its way in his hair, messes it up beyond repair, petting Arthur like he's a cat or something. Annoyed at how nice it feels, he pulls away prodding Eames' side until the other man finally gets the idea and rolls over presenting Arthur with his back and ass. There are scars, and questionable tattoos and acres and acres of skin all spread out for Arthur's pleasure. He shoves Eames' legs apart, and watches with a twisted sort of pleasure as Eames shivers and grabs hold of the sheets.

He lies down on Eames' body, comparing the differences between them and enjoying the way Eames works to keep still under him. He nuzzles at the back of Eames' neck some more, nipping his way down Eames' spine until the Brit relaxes under him again. Arthur breathes wetly against the small of Eames' back wondering how they've gotten here from him getting slapped in the face. Sinks his teeth in the swell of the left ass cheek just to leave Eames a little reminder.

The dark pink orifice hidden between those cheeks twitches under Arthur's thumb. He has to work for long, breathless minutes to push the tip of his finger in, wondering what has possessed Eames to allow—this. Eames is far too tight to take it up the ass on a regular basis, or at all for that matter, the way he clutches at the sheets tell Arthur that he's fighting to not push Arthur away. Still, as long as Eames isn't protesting—they are both sweating by the time Arthur manages to push several fingers in.

The forger has his face buried in the pillows smothering any sound he might make, knuckles white with strain, but the rest of his body is pliant letting Arthur manipulate him as he wants. Arthur licks the sweat off Eames' spine covering him again. His dick leaves sticky trails on Eames' skin as he slots his dick between Eames' cheeks.

There should be lube, only Arthur can't be bothered to go look for it, can't risk getting distracted. He pushes in inch by torturous inch as Eames shudders under him. Stretching himself, he cups Eames' fists forcing them to unclench lacing their fingers together. With shallow thrusts he rocks them together moaning at the tight heat clinging to him with every thrust. He isn't sure how long the tortuously, slow rocking together lasts before Arthur feels Eames wiggle under him, shifting and arching his back until they are both on their knees and Arthur is panting from exertion.

He can feel orgasm approaching, when the whole thing strikes him as wrong. Arthur wants to hear Eames, watch his face as the forger comes… He pulls out with a frustrated grow, the shock of it finally enticing Eames to look over his shoulder, wide eyed and wary. His face is wet with sweat or maybe tears, his pupils blown, lips swollen and bitten raw. Arthur manhandles him until Eames is on his back, spread out again like a buffet, his legs falling open in invitation.

Eames dick is hard and wet, swaying gently with every breath ball sack shiny and tight as eager for release as Arthur reaches for him, crawls over him until they are lined up again. This time he is less careful: slamming right in eliciting a strangled moan from Eames. Before the forger can bite his lip again strangling the sound, Arthur pushes in hard, hoisting Eames' legs on to his shoulders as best he can, leaning forward until he can lick the sound out of Eames' mouth.

Eames clutches at Arthur's neck, digs his nails in every time Arthur surges forward eyes falling closed with every thrust. Arthur has to wonder if he'll get to see the sight again after this, the uncertainty of why Eames is allowing all of this—only adds to the rush of it all. Eames' dick rubs against his abdomen sticky and hot, snagging on his belly button on every pass. Arthur brazes against the mattress with his toes, fighting to keep his knees from slipping on the wet sheets digging his fingers into Eames' hips consumed by the need to come already and drag Eames over the edge with him.

Eames bares his teeth, dropping his leg and hooking it around Arthur's waits his heel digging into the small of Arthur's back urging him on. Arthur lets his head drop, bites and licks at all skin within reach until he can latch on to a pert nipple sucking at the tight bit of flesh hungrily. Eames curses, forming actual words for the first time if not complete sentences, but the hand on Arthur's neck tightens pushing him back down when he tries to pull away. In answer, Arthur pushes a hand between their bodies, closing it around Eames' dick to milk him for all he's worth until Eames bucks under him and comes gasping and keening. Arthur rides it out, fucking the forger through the aftershocks of orgasm until Eames falls back onto the sheets.

Arthur forces himself to stop, let go and pull out only to be stopped by Eames' leg still wrapped around his waist. Eames opens his eyes, pupils blown in contentment, licking his lips as he pulls on Arthur's hair. "Get on with it, mate." He slurs urging Arthur on with a weak kick to Arthur's kidney.

"I'm not holding back." Arthur warns, slamming back in no longer caring whether Eames will be able to handle it or not. He fucks into the pliant body under him chasing his own release with single-minded determination. He spreads Eames' thighs wider, enjoying the way Eames' muscles shift and tighten under his hands, shoves in as hard as he can everything but the slick hole clutching at his dick falling away until he comes with a strangled cry.

When the last wave of pleasure passes, he opens his eyes, Eames is half hard again watching Arthur has he strokes himself lazily. Untangling them, Arthur collapses at Eames' side while catching his breath, watching as Eames keeps stroking himself and watching him in return. Still unwilling to speak and break the spell, Arthur rolls over and closes his hand around Eames' dick as well lacing their fingers together and scratching blunt fingers across sensitive flesh until Eames whines and tries to push his hand away. Arthur forces both of their hands off Eames' dick instead, leaving Eames squirming and whining for touch until Arthur twists and swallows him down suck and licking until Eames grabs his hair tight, and fucks into his throat robbing Arthur of breath.

He's seeing stars by the time Eames' come coats his tongue, dripping from his slack mouth back onto Eames' abdomen as he fights to catch his breath. Eames drags him up to lie on his chest, licking the mess off Arthur's chin before dumping him back on the mattress and rolling off the bed. Arthur feels a twinge of lust at the sight of himself leaking out of Eames as he walks away.

The sound of the shower almost lulls Arthur to sleep before doubt sets in. How accommodating Eames was all of a sudden, the inconsistency in behavior has Arthur sitting up, reaching for his totem. The dice bounces on the bedside table dancing and spinning as Arthur digs his hands in the sheets in anticipation.        


	28. Chapter 28

No matter how big or small the house Eames is occupying is, there is always place for a full length mirror. Sometimes it's out in the hall, barely anything more than a reflecting surface leaning against the wall, at other times it is a massive and ornate handing in a room all on its own. Either way it is always there.

Sometimes Eames spends hours in front of it, at other times it goes ignored for months. It all depends on what pays more at any current moment. Though, truth be told, Eames really should concentrate on forging documents and art instead of forging people. Forging people—forging people is dangerous it's there reason the mirror is there.

He stands before it, sometimes for hours scrutinizing every inch of his body: convincing himself that it is indeed his body and not some figment of his imagination. Forgers burn out: they go insane, disassociate and end up dribbling in a corner of a loony asylum somewhere or even worse in the gutter, depending on which country got the pleasure of scraping the poor insane bastard off the pavement.

Of course Eames intents for it to never happen to him, only insuring that would mean never working dreamshare again, and sometimes it's the only quick payoff around. So no matter what promises he makes: Eames comes back to it again and again.

Hence the mirrors.

Arthur comes across Eames standing close to the glass, tracing his reflection and his own body in turn. Feels his skin, runs his fingers through is hair then do it all over again just to make sure every part of him is real. Eames traces the regimental tattoos he really should have gotten rid off ages ago, the scars from getting shot, and the ones from getting drunk that one time and almost setting himself on fire that's left him with smooth patches along the inside of his left arm and across the left side of his ribs. Pets at the soft fur on his thighs, and down to his ankles before turning back. He uses a small mirror to examine his back and ass, traces lines between freckles until they from patterns in his head. He spends ages tracing the features of his face over and over again until he's almost sure that he is in fact he.

Sometimes, very rarely, Arthur comes across Eames clutching at the mirror like a life-line, forehead against the class, staring himself in the eyes and shivering. He can't do anything about any of it: Eames is a grown man, and won't appreciate Arthur meddling no matter how well intended. chances are, if he so much as mentions it, Eames will disappear into the wilds of Africa or the depths of Hong Kong and Arthur wouldn't see him again until Arthur got over his sulk and decided to forgive him.

"What do you want, darling?" The question makes him jump, Arthur not having been aware that Eames had even noticed his presence in the doorway.

"Nothing, just missed you—" He feels the tips of his ears going red, men aren't supposed to get gooey especially over waking up alone. Arthur bites his lip and concentrates on Eames' ass, the tight globes of it still bearing the marks from Arthur's nails digging in as Eames fucked him practically through the mattress the previous night.

"Sorry, I just—" Eames doesn't finish, surrendering his death grip on the mirror sides and turning to Arthur with a smile. He can never properly explain to Arthur why he needs to do what he does, as often as he's tried to figure out a way to do so. He steps up to Arthur pulling the American to his breast.

"I've seen the statistics you know, I get it." Arthur rubs his nose against the swell of the muscular chest his body responding to Eames' proximity. He isn't sure Eames will even be interested, but his body has been conditioned to expect sex when in Eames' arms. "It doesn't bother me—" He doesn't add 'much'. The thought of losing Eames to insanity or anything else for that matter makes his gut twist in strange ways.

"Liar." Eames smiles down at him, his broad, yet delicate hand cupping Arthur's jaw tilting his face up for a kiss. "But I appreciate the sentiment, pet. Are you hungry?" He knows Eames hates talking about this thing that hangs over their heads, hanging over his head like a death sentence. Pressed against Eames' naked form, yes, Arthur is hungry: but what he's mostly hungry for is Eames. Accepting the kiss, Arthur lets his hands roam the forger's body until they finally settle on Eames' ass kneading and squeezing at the hard muscle. "Really, darling, before breakfast?"

Arthur's getting far too distracted by the taste and feel of Eames. "I can have you for breakfast." Arthur murmurs against Eames' throat really liking the idea now that he's thought of it. Eames just chuckles in response, pushing his dick against Arthur's hip. "Not here." The forger abruptly decides, and while the thought of getting fucked against the mirror is tempting, Arthur decides not to argue allowing himself to be guided out into the livingroom where Eames drops the both of them on the couch.

"Bon appétit, darling." He smirks, folding his arms behind his head theatrically. Arthur answers the smirk with one of his own and goes to town.


End file.
